


Honey, can you hang around?

by un_mot_vulgaire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Always Female Dean Winchester, Benny is her stepfather, Consensual Underage Sex, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Deanna is 17, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Size Kink, Swimming Pools, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, this is pornography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26109847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/un_mot_vulgaire/pseuds/un_mot_vulgaire
Summary: Deanna Winchester knows how to get what she wants.What she wants is her stepfather, Benny.
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I made you a pornography. It's tagged as such. 
> 
> Beta'd by the fabulous iroh-lover-69.

Benny Lafitte’s having a hard time figuring out if he’s the luckiest or unluckiest man on Earth.

Probably he’d be somewhere in between those two extremes, if he were a better man. 

It’s a gorgeous day - sun bright and sky clear, the smallest of breezes keeping the temperature from swinging to the wrong side of sweltering. He’s stretched out by a pool, cold beer in hand, and there’s a gorgeous little thing in a bikini floating across from him. Deanna’s drifting on an inflatable lounger. Full lips slightly parted as she drifts in and out of sleep, long line of her neck exposed as she tilts her face toward the sun. 

She’s seventeen, his stepdaughter, and he thinks he might be going to hell.

His throat is dry, and he raises his beer to his lips to take a long pull.

She’s draped loose-limbed across the back of the pool float, all golden skin against the white plastic and an emerald green bikini he knows matches her eyes. Every time he looks back at her again, she’s shifted again and every single time her bikini has gone a little more askew. Bottoms pulled higher over her hipbone on one side, bikini top shifted to expose the firm underside of her generous breasts. He looks up to the sky, and when he looks back again, her left breast is showing a tantalizing sliver of aureola. And that’s knowledge he didn’t need but will never be able to forget, that her nipples are a deliciously ruddy tan. 

He goes to take another pull of his beer and finds it empty. He wonders how long he’s been sitting here, staring. He shifts one knee up, uncomfortably, to hide himself before he clears his throat. “Deanna,” he says, voice low and rough. Repeats himself and she seems to drift back to consciousness again with a rolling, full-bodied stretch that shows everything off to its best advantage and bares another tantalizing sliver. 

“Been in the sun for a while,” he says as she blinks slow at him. “Might want to cover up,” he suggests. “Wouldn’t want to burn.” He probably should have said it a half-hour ago. Definitely should have made the suggestion by the moment the areola made an appearance. He went to open his mouth a half dozen times, only to find it too dry to speak, but he really, really, needs her to put on some clothes.

“Right,” she says, looking around at where the shadows are sitting now. Glances down at herself and blushes, just a bit, before rolling off the float and into the water of the pool. She dives underwater and kicks over to the side of the pool. When she surfaces again and pushes out of the pool, her swimsuit is back in place, but there are rivulets of water coursing down her body, all lean muscles from sports and curves in all the right places. Benny, wearing his dark sunglasses low on his face, pretends he hadn’t noticed anything awry.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling at him, leaning past him to grab a towel. She comes close enough that fine droplets of water from her hair, the bend of her elbow, mist along his chair and overheated skin. Instead of wrapping the towel around herself, she leans sideways to blot at her hair, and heads towards their house, leaving wet footprints on the concrete that evaporate quickly in the heat.

Benny watches her go, unable to look away. That peach of an ass, christ. When the screen door slides shut behind her he swears and lets his head thunk back against the lounge chair again, and closes his eyes in gratitude. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the sun on his face and the quiet lapping of the water in the pool and not think about how long it’s been since Deanna’s mother took that job in freaking Calgary or the way Deanna’s wet skin glittered in the sun as she leaned over him. Him and Mary - realistically, that’d been over before the promotion that took her to Canada, twisted topsy-turvy by John’s intermittent attempts to insert himself back into a family that was better off without him. 

He cracks an eyelid when he hears the screen door again, _merde_ falling from his lips when he sees that she’s thrown a white tank top over her obviously still-wet bikini and swapped out the bottoms for a pair of shorts that cover barely more than they did, and tight enough on her hips that the smooth sides let him know she’s not still wearing them underneath. It’s something, though. It’s something. She has a brown plastic bottle and an insulated tumbler of something with her, and stops to set it down by the lounger by the end of the pool near him. When she bends forward to lay the lounger down flat, the dark shorts ride up and he can see the bottom of her cheeks and he automatically reaches for his empty beer. With the lounger flat, she straightens, both hands going to the bottom of the tank, arms crossing as she strips it over her head. 

“What in the hell was even the point of the shirt?” Benny asks, affronted. It slips out of him without warning, like the thin tank top was a security blanket he’s had ripped away. 

Benny can see from the dark impressions on the white shirt that the bikini top she’s wearing is still wet, and he wonders, wildly, how it would feel if he touched it - if it would still be cool from the pool water or warmed Deanna’s skin temperature. He knows Deanna runs hot, wearing shorts and tanks almost year-round in the desert heat, fine beads of sweat tracking down her throat at the beach or during hot days.

“I just need to even out,” she says, sitting on the edge of the flattened lounge chair. “I’ll put it back on after I get a bit of sun.”

“I hope you remembered your damn sunscreen,” he says.

She waggles the brown bottle at him as she settles on the blue and white striped cushions. Crosses one long leg over the other.

“That’s an oil, isn’t it?” he asks, trying very hard to focus on the brown bottle in her hand instead of - anything else.

“SPF 30,” she says. Frowns and smacks the bottle when nothing comes out. “Spray’s broken,” she pouts and opens the top to drizzle some into her palms. 

Benny closes his eyes when she starts rubbing it along her arms, not wanting to have the memory of her working oil onto her stomach and chest burned into his brain. 

“Could you help me with my back?” she asks what feels like an eternity later. 

He opens his eyes, expecting to see her with her knees drawn up on the chair in front of her, back presented, to be looking at the notches of her curved spine growing from the low waistband of those shorts, but she’s - lying flat on her stomach, has her arms twisted behind her as she releases the clasp on her bikini. Pulls the mass of her hair over her shoulder, honey-brown waves still heavy with water, and unknots the halter tied at the nape of her neck.

“Please?” she asks, and he realizes it’s probably been too long since she asked the first time as he stared and clenched his hands on the arms of his chair. She’s looking back over her shoulder at him, biting her lip just a bit, and god, he’s always been a sucker for those green eyes of hers. 

He can’t come up with a good reason to say no, and if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t want to. “Course,” he says.

She turns her face back into her crossed arms, and he takes a fortifying breath and gets up. He picks up the tanning oil from the deck. Her chair is low and she’s lying right in the middle of it so there’s no way for him to settle to the side. There’s a space on either side of her, though, where his knees would fit just right. He thinks about going to his knees beside the chair, but that would just give him a view of her head level with his hips, the side of her breast, as he worked oil into her skin. _Hell_ , a voice in his head murmurs, but she looks back at him and says “please.”

 _Skin cancer_ , he tells the voice, and feels the cushion of the lounger beneath one knee, then beneath the other, and he settles in, straddling her. He pours some of the oil into his palms and takes a deep, fortifying breath, smelling water and grass and the coconut-caramel of the oil as he works it between his palms. Reality feels a little wobbly as he watches his big hands on her back, moving easily across her skin, sun-warm and pale, working oil over where freckles are starting to bloom. Deanna is athletic, isn’t a tiny slip of a girl, but his hands span so much of her. He covers the wings of her shoulder blades, the breadth of her shoulders, works over the back of her arms to make sure she didn’t miss anything. He pulls back to add more oil, drizzling it along her spine, and makes sure his touch is firmer along the side of her ribs where he knows she’s ticklish. Pretends he doesn’t notice the pads of his fingers brushing the supple sides of her breasts. He works the waistband of her shorts down, just a bit, just low enough to see the dimples along her spine, rubs in the sun oil before tugging her shorts back up. “Wouldn’t want you to get a burn if you shifted,” he says. His voice is so low he almost doesn’t recognize it. 

“Thank you, Benny,” Deanna says. Props herself up a bit, one arm crossed under herself, technically holding her top in place, but the curves of her breasts peek out everywhere. “Could you get the backs of my legs, too?” she asks, looking back over her shoulder at him through her eyelashes. 

“Okay,” Benny says. Yeah, okay. He shifts down to work the oil into her calves, the backs of her thighs, fingers ghosting across the curve of her cheeks revealed by the shorts. Just being thorough, he tells himself. If he can see it, so can the sun. He works his hands along the curve of her ass under the shorts a bit more. He was right - she’s not wearing the bikini bottoms under the shorts. 

She’s also not wearing underwear, his fingers touching nothing but skin, no lines on the shorts. His big hands pull those damn shorts taut against her pussy. She’s completely bare, he thinks fuzzily. He imagines he can smell her. It would be so easy to let his oiled fingers slip between her lips or between her cheeks. His hands clench, just a little, against her ass. Without his permission. He’s fascinated by the way her oiled skin gleams in the sunlight. He’s blindingly hard, and he wants nothing more than to lower himself to press her deep into the chair, to press his lips to the delicate, exposed shell of her ear while slipping his fingers inside her, to press himself to the small of her back so he can feel what she’s doing to him. Instead, he stifles a groan and squeezes reassuringly at her thighs before he pushes away.

“There you go, darling,” he says. Stands there for a moment looking at the glistening golden expanse of her, then dives right into the pool, hoping the cool water and a couple of laps will take care of his situation. 

*

Deanna swears as Benny dives into the pool. He’s under the water, distracted, so she indulges and lets her hips grind futilely against the chair cushion. She gets the smallest amount of friction from her shorts but it’s nothing like enough.

What’s it going to take to make him break? She’d almost think he doesn’t want her, but then there’s the awkward way he’s moving through the water now, half-powered, obviously compensating. She’s spent a lot of time watching the powerful way he cuts through the water, and the awkward way he’s moving now tells her he’s definitely hard. 

She checked these shorts in the mirror in her bedroom after she put them on, glancing back and she bent forward to make sure they rode up just right. She knows he was watching her in the pool, eyes caught every time he looked away and looked back to find that she’d tugged this piece of that of her suit askew. 

She thought she had him with the oil. She thinks about his broad hands pulling her shorts tight against her mons. She had wondered, a little wildly, if she’d worn lighter colored shorts, if he’d have been able to see how _wet_ she was. She thinks about his hands curving around her inner thighs, where they meet her body, slippery with oil. She’d shifted, spreading her legs just enough to expose herself a little. He’d let out a little, punched out groan, fingers tightening automatically against her inner thighs and she’d moved with it, spreading that little bit wider. He’d frozen with his hands on the curve of her cheeks, pulling her shorts against her, and she’d thought he’d have to be able to see her by then. There had been a long moment when she’d thought he was finally, finally, going to slide a finger into her, but instead he’d rubbed his hands down her thighs and gotten up off her lounge chair, moving stiffly. 

She wonders how big he is. She knows from how he stands, from his board shorts, from how he walks, that it’s big. She just doesn’t know _how_ big. She thinks about how big his hands felt on her back and how strong he is and how broad his body would be over hers and all the kinds of marks he could leave on her. She desperately wants to roll her hips, to sneak a hand down to give herself a bit of relief, but she’s afraid he’ll emerge from the water in the middle of it. Instead she settles herself further into the dark hollow of her crossed arms, half-dozing as she listens to his solid strokes and feeling the sun warm on her skin. 

She blinks and finds, disoriented, that she’s slept. Benny’s out of the water, lounging half upright in this chair. His board shorts are mostly dry but they hang low on his hips. His problem seems to have subsided. She watches him through half-lidded eyes, hidden by the fall of her hair. She drinks in the breadth of him, his shoulders, the tattoos that cut along and below the swells of muscle. He’s got a comfortable little layer of padding that does absolutely nothing to obscure how freaking strong he is. He’s got a nice layer of chest hair that narrows to a treasure trail leading into his low-slung shorts. It’s all as neatly groomed as his beard, and she’d be willing to bet the attention to detail continues its way down. It’s - a really nice image, even if she wants to pout a bit at missing it while he was wet. 

He’s staring at her from beneath his dark glasses, eyes tracking along the v of her legs to her cheeky shorts and up along the bare curve of her back and the side of her breasts. Honestly, she’d be a little offended if he wasn’t looking. She picked these shorts for this purpose exactly, picked this angle for her chair so he had an ideal view. She thrills a little at the attention, spreading her legs just that tiny bit farther. 

She watches his adam’s apple bob, and he looks away. She drifts for a minute or two more before letting herself make a soft, sleepy purr and stretching as she wakes her muscles up, toes pointing and feet flexing and arms reaching, back arching, coming up off the lounger like she’s completely forgotten her top is lying limp below her, coming back down and nestling back into her arms as she looks back at him. “What time is it?” she asks with a sleepy slur she doesn’t have to fake.

“Around three,” he says. 

“Thanks,” she says, and turns her face back into her crossed arms for a minute or two, until the heat of the sun on her back and the weight of his gaze start to feel almost too much, and she feels around for the ties of her bikini top. She fastens the back, ties the halter around her neck tighter than normal and is pleased with the extra oomph it gives her cleavage when she swings upright. 

“Do you want anything?” she asks as she pulls the thin white tank over her head. He’s looking at her intently as her head pops through the neck hole. “Drink?” she follows up, gesturing at the house. 

“Don’t worry about me, sugar,” he drawls, and she nods and heads towards the empty house, swaying her hips as she goes. 

The air conditioning in the empty house hits her like a bucket of cold water, and she shivers into it. The tile is cool underfoot as she pads into the kitchen, and she splashes some water on her face, hearing _sugar_ again. She runs water from the tap into a glass, and looks out the window. Drinks and watches the backyard and the water in the pool sparkling in the sunlight. From here, most of what she sees of Benny is one broad shoulder and muscular arm. Her nipples are erect in the cool air, and she sighs. 

When she feels a little less flushed, a little less overheated, she pulls two bottles of beer out of the fridge and pops the tops with the ring she wears that she fished out of her father’s stuff before he finally fucked off to god knows where for the last time. She thinks it was her grandmother’s.

The sun is a welcome rush when she steps back outside, condensation already dewing on the bottles of beer as she uses her hip to skootch the door closed behind her. 

“Hey,” Deanna says, crowding over Benny’s chair from behind, looming over him with an upside-down smile. She dangles the bottle in front of his face and he takes it automatically. “Noticed yours was empty.”

“Thanks, cherie,” he says, trying to keep his eyes on her face only.

She likes the constant stream of nicknames, of affection. She likes him - she likes how well he tips and how he commits his whole body to everything he does and how his eyes crinkle when he smiles and how much he loves to bake. She likes the fact that he once punched her father in his face. “You’re welcome,” she says, feeling flushed and suddenly glad her face is in shadow. Smiles. Pulls back and goes to settle poolside, dangling her feet and calves in the water. 

“And what do you have there?” Benny asks. His voice is mild in the way it gets when he means business.

“What that I have where?” Deanna asks, grinning a little, cheeky, putting her bottle down so that her body blocks it from his line of sight. 

He looks at her seriously, though, “Deanna,” Benny says, voice low and warning, like Deanna might not remember she’d promised to mind him when he offered to let her stay and finish high school instead of moving to Canada with Sam and Mary and her fancy new job.

She sighs and places the brown glass bottle where he can see it. “A single beer that I’m openly consuming in the safety of my own home, under adult supervision,” she says, and waits, patiently.

Benny, who spent a lot of his life in New Orleans, who lived in France for a couple of years, and who’s always had slightly more lax approach to underage alcohol consumption than her mother did, finally nods. “All right,” he says. “But don’t tell your mother.”

“If I was in Alberta with my mother, it would be pretty much legal for me to drink this,” Deanna says. She rolls her eyes.

“Deanna,” Benny says again in that voice, and she shivers a bit. 

“Cross my heart,” Deanna says, making the gesture and flicking a bit of water in the pool with her toes. “Don’t worry,” she says, making eye contact over the top of her bottle and she wraps her lips around it and drinks. “I know how to keep a secret.”

They sit there in companionable silence, drinking and soaking in the sunshine, until Deanna, leaning back on her hands and looking at him out the corner of her eye, has a realization. That the sun oil with the broken dispenser she brought down is the only one there. “Benjamin,” she scolds, sounding affronted. “Please tell me that after all the sun safety lectures, you’re wearing some kind of sunscreen.”

“Put on some before I came out,” he says, easy. 

“That was hours ago,” she says, “and you’ve been in the water,” and pouts at and badgers him until he agrees to reapply. 

“Fine,” he says, finally. “Toss me the stuff you have out.”

Deanna tilts her beer, fingers playing over the neck of the bottle before she puts it down and pulls her legs up out of the pool, shivering a little at the contrast as the air hits the water. She makes sure to sway her ass a little extra and bend over a little more than is perfectly necessary to pick up the suntan oil from the deck, knowing her cheeks are peeking out.

When she turns around, Benny is finishing a long, long pull on his beer. His throat works. He puts out his hands for her to throw it to him. She tests the weight of the bottle in her hands, feels the warm plastic, the slight slick film of oil on it, and takes a deep breath and makes a decision. She tosses the bottle to herself and smiles. Steps forward to hand it to him, except she pulls it back at the last second, grins at his quizzical look. 

“You helped me,” she says. Grins low. “Let me help you,” she tells him. Drops a knee to one side of his hip, slings the other over so she’s straddling him. Hovering in midair so their only points of contact are her knees at his sides, her calves pressed against his thighs. Her legs are splayed wide around him, and she can tell her legs are going to start quivering before long, partially the physical exertion, and partially - 

“Deanna,” he says. “What are you doing?”

“Just returning the favor,” she says. She pours a bit of the tanning oil into her hands, leans forward to press her palms into his chest. He hisses a little at the contact, like her skin is burning him or the oil is acid, but she revels in the solid muscle beneath her, and the ability to transfer some of her weight takes some of the pressure off of her thighs. With her legs spread, her shorts ride up around her hips and pull at her pussy in a way she has to work not to roll into.

His hands are hovering in midair, like he’s not sure what’s going to happen if he touches her, if he’s going to send her flying or pull her close. 

She glides her hands over the muscles bulging beneath his skin, sees them twitch a little like he’s holding himself back. She skates her fingers through the hair on his chest, lingers at his tattoos. “Deanna,” he says. Stops. Voice a low rumble of frustration, turned on and frustrated and clearly at war with himself.

“You wouldn’t want to burn, would you?” she asks. Sweeps her palms up along his ribs, thumbs catching at his nipples as she covers his pectorals.

“Deanna,” he growls, sharp, and catches her wrists in his hands. 

“Oh,” she says, and it’s only partly an act when her thighs give and she finds herself sitting in his lap. “ _Oh_ ,” she says again, differently this time, because he’s hard beneath her. “What is this?” Deanna asks, all studied innocence, biting her lip, giving a little exploratory roll of her hips. 

“Stop it,” he growls. Transfers his grip so he’s got both of her hands to one of his, pressed to his chest; the other shooting out to hold her hips still so she can’t rock any more. 

And she freezes, everything in her going cold despite the desert sun, because she thinks he means -- 

“You know _exactly_ what that is, and why it’s there,” he says. His voice is the same low smoke as always. “American sex ed isn’t that bad and you’re not that dumb. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Well, yeah,” she says and rolls her eyes. Tries to roll her hips against him at the same time, but his hand holds her inextricably still. “Your faith in the public education system is dramatically misplaced, but I’m not _stupid._ ” 

“ _There_ you are,” he says, voice low. He releases her hands and reaches out to cup the side of her face.

“Hi,” she says. His thumb sweeps her cheekbone. Her hands free, she slides them down just a bit so she can brace against his ribs. 

“Deanna…” he says, slow and low, like he wants to talk about this, but she turns her face into his hand, nuzzling at his palm before she pulls back just enough to press a kiss there, in the middle of his palm. To the base of his thumb. To the blue veins showing through his inner wrist. She tries to move her hips but he’s still holding them still. She flexes her fingers against his skin. He strokes his thumb across the corner of her mouth, the bridge of her nose, across her brow. She chases after his touch, and when his hand tracks low again she catches his thumb with her mouth. She nips at it gently, bobbing forward so that she can drag her tongue from the base to his fingertip. She grins around it, cheeky, and one side of his mouth twists wryly up at her. 

He drags his thumb across her lower lip as he pulls his hand regretfully from her. She chases after it, but he slides his hand back to tangle into the hair at the back of her neck and uses it to pull her down to him in a kiss. She moves easily, shifting to brace her elbows on either side of his head, letting him tug her down until their lips hover, almost touching, and she grins feral and closes the distance. It manages to flicker between teeth and tongues and almost delicate sharing of breath. His beard makes her want to alternate between giggles and moans. She wants to know what it will feel like on other parts of her body. He still has one hand in her hair and the other on her hips, and she pulls away to sit upright atop him. Her thigh muscles, which were starting to shake from her knees spread around him, give gratefully. She can feel him beneath her and, god, he’s apparently still getting hard. 

“How big are you?” she asks. Braces her hands on his chest and gives her hips an experimental little wiggle before he presses her down and still. “How big are you going to be?”

“Patience,” Benny drawls, like he’s never met her. Gives the back of her head a squeeze before he slides his hand down to rest against her neck. 

“I’ve _been_ patient,” she says. Tries to snarl, hates that it comes out as more of a whine.

“Oh, baby girl,” Benny says. “Of course you have been.” He sits up to kiss her again, softer. When he settles back, his hand comes up, thumb pressing at the bow of her lower lip like an apology. And when she tries to rock her hips, this time he lets her. 

She turns into it, nuzzling at his palm, before she closes a hand around his wrist and makes deliberate eye contact while she sucks two of his fingers into her mouth. He tastes a little like coconut oil and a little like chlorine and mostly like sun-warmed skin. She keeps his eyes as she laves her tongue around and between them, working them in and out, all suction and heat, taking them all the way down to the palm and letting him feel the fluttering of the back of her throat. 

“Fuck,” Benny swears, pupils blown, as she lets his fingers slide out of her mouth with an obscene pop. 

She grins wicked, and his hand comes down so that he has both of them at her hips, and that’s - oh, that’s good, that’s great, the solid way he’s holding her hips in those big hands, feeling the strength that’s coiled in his arms and how easily he could move her where he wants. 

She brings her arms up behind her head, and it’s partly to stretch and move her heavy hair behind her shoulders, but it’s also to arc her back and show off her breasts. Benny’s breath comes out in a rush, and his big hand on her hips tightens automatically, and the combination of his fingers clenching tight at the bottom of her tank and the way she’s curving her back is enough that the neckline slips even lower, cleavage and emerald green bikini top visible over the thin white fabric. It’s not like the shadow of it wasn’t visible through the fabric, but she knows how this looks, the swell of her breasts cupped by the green fabric, white cutting low across them. Benny raises his hands, hovering in midair like he’s not certain if he’s going to palm her breast or pull her shirt back up. She solves the conundrum for him, bringing his hands in to press them against her breasts. His hands are huge, god, they’re so big, spanning her ribcage, each one fitting perfectly around one ample breast. His thumbs sweep up to flick against her erect nipples and she whimpers and rocks against him. She feels him growing below her and shimmies. She leans forward to kiss him. His mouth opens easily beneath hers, and then kisses her back, hard, teeth and tongue and beard scraping against her. One hand comes up to tighten in the hair at the back of her neck, the other stays flicking at her nipple as she whines and rolls against him. She pulls back, gasping, and his hand in her hair releases and comes to cup the side of her face.

“Fuck,” Benny swears, pupils blown. 

“Definitely,” Deanna says with a giggle, laughter fading into a moan as he pinches a nipple through her bikini top as punishment. 

“You like that?” Benny asks, and does it again, a bit harder. 

Deanna nods, breathless, rocking against him. Benny’s hands push her hair back from her face, one hand pinning it in a ponytail behind her head as his eyes rake up and down her body, devouring her in her too-short shorts and the white tank pulled low under her breasts and the green bikini top that barely covers anything useful and does nothing to hide her straining nipples. Deanna pulls a ponytail from her wrist and uses it to tie her hair back where Benny’s holding it back from her face. 

“I could eat you alive,” Benny says. He sits up to mouth at her nipple through her bikini, nipping at the erect peak before he lounges back again to watch her. He slides a hand down to cup her pubic mound, cupping her through her shorts. He gives her a good, firm rub through them, then just - leaves his hand there between her thighs, solid and hot. And, god, his hand can just - CUP so much.

“Then DO,” she grits out. He grins against her collarbone as she tries to ride his hand, using his other to hold her hip to limit her movement. He leans back in the chair and just - watches her. She flushes under his gaze and rocks against the hand between her thighs. Brings her hands up to play with her breasts through her bikini. His gaze is intense, and she wants his mouth on her, back on her collarbone, on other places, so she lets go of herself to tangle her hands between his neck, try to pull him back in. He doesn’t come and even takes his hand away from where it’s cupping her over her shorts. 

She lets out a noise she’s not proud of, doesn’t want to admit how much of a desperate whine it is. His hands, though, come up to trail along her breastbone, drifting down until he slides his hands into her bikini top, hands hot between skin and fabric. His thumbs catch as they stroke over pebbled nipples, and he watches with rapt fascination as he bares her breasts to the air. Pulls the fabric of her bikini down so the halter sits under her breasts in an emerald green harness. She flushes at how intently he’s looking at them, at her, the way the sunlight hits them and the way his hands look on her. He takes his time playing with her breasts, caressing, ghosting the backs of his knuckles from her collarbone, down the curve of her breast and nipple before cupping them from beneath, thumbs coming up to flick at her. She tugs his neck, but it’s not until she says _please_ that he grins and swoops in and puts his mouth where she wants it. Licks a strip over her nipple and blows air on it, cooling quickly in the air. 

“Beautiful,” he says, and slides his hands around to cup her ribcage and the sides of her breasts, pulling her forwards so that her breasts spill near his face. “Gorgeous,” he says. Uses his hands to press her breasts together and buries his face in them, pressing into the cleavage and working along the swell of them with lips and tongue and teeth, thumbs flicking at her nipples until he finally, finally, brings his mouth to bear there. He tests her with tongue and the slightest nip of teeth, finding a combination of suction and pressure that vibrates pleasure straight to her core. Her hands come automatically to the back of his head to encourage him. He works first one, then the other, wet sucking heat of his mouth contrasting with the edge of his teeth and the cool blast of air he blows across their wet surface before switching between them. His beard is a pleasant agony against her delicate skin. She digs her hands into his hair and pulls him in closer, rocking her hips. He switches breasts, hand working, before he nips at her and settles back. She slides a hand down her stomach, toward her shorts, looking for some relief. 

Benny shakes his head. “Going to have to teach you some patience, baby girl,” he says. Sits her upright on his lap. He pulls her forward so that she’s bracketing his bare waist instead of the rougher fabric of his shorts. Run his thumb along her lips, teasing, soothing, dipping to meet her clit in the most fleeting touches, to stroke along her slit. 

“Please,” she asks. Pleads, maybe, a little. Tries to pull him back to her breasts, air cool against her erect nipples. When he doesn’t move she slides her hand into her shorts, looking for relief, before Benny pulls her hand away. Replaces it with his, over the fabric, for a quick rub, before he pulls her arms to bracket his shoulders on the chair.

“Only good girls get rewarded,” Benny says. He kisses her, runs his hands down her sides, an almost-tickle through the tank top. His hands rest at her hips, slide down to curl around her thighs. His fingers trail down her inner thighs, so close to where she wants them. She tries to roll her hips to get him right there, but his hands tighten on her thighs and hold her in place. “Are you going to be good for me?” he asks, letting go. Running the backs of his fingers along the seam of her shorts where they pull against her.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Deanna gasps, chasing his fingers. Closing her eyes. “Maybe I need to be punished,” she says. 

He stops moving his hand, just keeping it there. She opens her eyes and he’s looking at her seriously. “Be good for me,” Benny says. Voice low and commanding. “Be a good girl.”

“Okay,” Deanna says. Quivers and doesn’t roll her hips. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“That’s my girl,” Benny says, voice low and fond and dark and sending shivers through her. Still teasing his thumb against her lips. “Can you keep your hands there?”

She nods, braced over him and breasts free. 

“Tell me if you have to move,” he says. Shifts the hand that’s been rubbing her to cup her inner thigh. Moves the other in to cup her. With excruciating slowness, he uses his left hand to pull her shorts to the side. His thumb catches at her pussy lip as he does so, leaving her even more exposed as she wiggles above him, knees spread wide to bracket him. “So good for me,” he says, rubbing his fingers along her slit, eyes flickering closed as he feels how wet she is. 

“Please,” she says, and “please,” as he finally, finally, FINALLY slips a finger inside of her. He sinks in easy, stopping at the first knuckle and pulling back as she tries to clench. He pulls it out and she wiggles while he makes a shushing noise, comes back to press in deeper. He works in and out of her, hand hot between her thighs. His thumb brushes up and down, stopping when he finds her clit and she jolts.

“There you are,” he says, thumb pressing, finding a rhythm he likes, that she likes, as he works in and out. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs as he slips a second big finger into her, easy and slick and tight. He rocks them in and out, checking. She shudders, feeling full in a way she hadn’t known she was missing. A third finger comes up to test the stretch of her, and she moans. Tries to relax so that it can slip right into her, but her body resists. “Shhhhh,” he says, rubbing her clit as he pulls away. Pulls out, leaving her empty. Comes back with two and they fit inside her so perfectly. Slick noise as he slides back in.

“I’m always wet for you,” she whimpers as his thumb comes up to rub at her clit as he pumps his fingers in and out and she rides the hand pressed against her and inside of her. “Daddy,” she gasps out, and there’s a moment where she wonders if maybe she miscalculated and it’s too much, but Benny growls, and his fingers slam into her harder, faster, and she collapses forward, hands catching at his broad, broad shoulders as he fingers her and thumbs at her clit. Her back arcs as she shudders, breasts bouncing as she works her hips. 

“Be good for me,” Benny says, two fingers deep in her. “Be a good girl for Daddy,” he growls into her ear, curling his fingers deep inside her as she rides his hand and rocks against his palm, and comes and comes and comes. 

He pulls his fingers out of her slowly as she shakes her head and clenches around him and tries to keep them there, but he pets her thigh and tells her to behave, and she shudders and sways with aftershocks and emptiness. 

“That didn’t take you any time at all,” he says. Left hand petting along her thigh in soothing motions. 

She flushes, feeling silly and young. “Been on edge for so long,” she says. “Wanting you.”

“Bet no one’s ever shown you the kind of attention you deserved,” he says. “Shithead boys only worried about their own pricks.”

She shakes her head. 

“They ever make you come?” he asks, eyes dark. 

She shakes her head. “They tried.”

“Ever made it inside you?” he asks, shuts his eyes when she shakes her head again. Opens them, and they’re blown dark. “Can you come again?” he asks, eyes dark.

“Yeah,” she says. 

“Such a good girl,” Benny says, letting her work her hips in little thrusts against his as he brings his hands up. “The things I’m going to show you.” He teases his fingers in front of her, wet with her own juices, and she sways forward to catch them when he pulls them away. He slides the wet fingers into his own mouth, eyes closing in pleasure. “Taste so sweet,” he says. She gasps and scrabbles forward to kiss him, finally, chasing after her taste in his mouth. He lets her lead for a while, then his hands cup the back of her neck, controlling the kiss and then pulling back entirely. A hand trails down her body. “So pretty,” he says, splaying her lips open. “Why don’t you get rid of those shorts and scooch on up here so I can get a closer look, have a better taste.”

She thinks about how his beard will feel on her inner thighs. How hot his mouth will be. But - “No,” she gasps, frantic, rolling her hips. “In me. Please. I want-”

Benny shakes his head. “Thought you were going to behave,” he says. Tsks. Rubs absently between her lips, avoiding her sensitive clit.

“I will,” Deanna says. “Please, please, just -”

“I told you, baby girl,” he says. “Patience.” Uses that strength of his to pull her forward, settle her across his waist. “Going to have to take it slow. And - especially if you’ve never had anyone inside you before.”

“I can take it,” she tells him, affronted, like she doesn’t have fingers of her own, like she doesn’t have --

He catches her hand in his and moves it, pressing her palm to him through the shorts. And yeah, she’s felt him below her as she rocked in his lap, but this is --

“Oh,” she says as he drags her hand up the length of him. “Oooh,” she says. Grinds against his waist, rocks her ass back against him. “But I can see, can't I,” she says. “I want to see, can I --” she says, rocking her hips and working her hand over his shorts.

He lets out a noise that sounds like it came from a wounded animal, and she takes the opportunity to scramble back and kneel between his legs. “Please,'' she says, licking her lips. Hand curled against the dark fabric of his shorts, over him, and she wants to see, she wants to see so badly.

“Yeah,” he says. Voice lower than she’s ever heard. “Yeah, you can look.”

“Can I touch?” She asks, playing it up, hand pressing against him through the fabric. 

He rolls his eyes but also his hips. “Yeah, you can touch,” he says. 

“Would you like that?” she asks. Cupping him through his shorts. 

He exhales unsteadily. “Can’t say as I’d object.”

She’s cupping him through his shorts, slides her hands to the side, palms flatting over his hip bones, moves her hands up to the top of the board shorts, riding low on his hips, where the muscles cut, where the treasure trail winds. She makes quick work of their lacing, curls her fingers in the waistband. He watches her with dark, dark eyes and she starts to s l o w l y pull them down. Exposing the root of his cock makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a giggle spill out of her, and she has to stop to see the width of it, holding up her hand to measure it, just barely ghosting her index finger and thumbs along the sides. She was right about him keeping himself well groomed. She looks up and he’s watching her with dark eyes, so she licks her lips and keeps pulling the shorts down, down, down his muscular thighs, his cock, until the elastic finally clears his head, and he springs free. 

“Oh, _daddy_ ,” she breathes, words slipping free from her mouth without her awareness. “Wow,” she says, and reaches out, slowly, deliberately. She wraps her hands around him, testing how he feels in her hand, and it’s a stretch. She giggles a little, buries her face into his inner thigh. Presses a kiss there. Pulls back to look raptly at her hand on his cock. Plays with it a little, getting a feeling for how the skin shifts over his hardness, sliding it up and down. She dips her other hand to cup his balls, but he’s proportionate and she can’t hold both of them at the same time in one palm. She looks up and he’s staring down at her, and if she didn’t know better she’d say he looked both afraid and turned on; maybe people have run from them before. “You’re perfect,” she says, confident. She doesn't really have a huge repertoire to compare to, but there’s no way it’s not true. Her voice is low and breathless. She presses his dick up to his stomach. Leans in to press her lips in a kiss to one ball and then the other, then drop small tender kisses up the underside of his dick. He hisses.

“Oh, Benny,” she says. “This is-” and she puts her hand back around him, sliding up and down, holds it upright and leans in to kiss the tip of him. She starts to say something about his size, how he fits in her hand, but - he has to know how big he is, he has to have heard it. She kisses his head again and he twitches in her hand. “- even better than I dreamed of,” she says. Shifts her grip and closes her eyes and _licks_ up the length of him, from his root to his slit. Lets her eyes drift open with his dick still on her tongue. Licks around the head of him while making eye contact before she pulls back. “No objections?” she parrots back, and he laughs a long, low rumble. He mostly tastes like skin, which surprises her for some reason. 

“No objections,” he says. Reaches out to cup her face. “I mean, I’m going to hell, but it’s going to be worth it.”

She presses her face into his hand for a long moment before she turns to kiss the inside of one thigh, where the skin is fine. “Make me feel too good,” she says, hand on his cock and kissing around it, “to go to hell.”

“Not,” Benny says, “how it-” exhale “works,” he says, letting out a long, shaky breath as she licks between the fingers of the hand wrapped around him. Opens her mouth wide as she can and sucks his head in. He’s hard and hot and leaking precome, and she likes the stretch. He groans, loud, and his hand drops away from her face to fist in the cushions. His hip muscles flex as she gives it a tentative, testing suck, like he’s fighting not to move. She appreciates it as she gets used to the way it feels in her mouth, heavy and hot. Closes her eyes and tries to memorize the shape of it with her tongue and soft palate. Tests the frenulum, the glans. Relaxes her throat and takes more in, bobbing her head and keeping up the suction. She moves her hand up and down, and realizes just how much of his cock is outside of her mouth. She bobs forward, shallow at first, then deeper, keeps her hand moving, bobbing and stroking as he lets out a torrent of French. She opens her eyes and looks up through her lashes, maintains eye contact as she tries to work down lower and immediately regrets it. 

She pulls back, coughing, eyes watering, and his hands are on her face immediately, thumbing the tears from her eyes and soothing her. “What was that for?” he asks. Dick still bobbing by her face. 

“I wanted-” she says. “I should be able to-” It feels suddenly like the most important thing in the world, that she can get his cock deeper. That if he won’t fuck her, that she can at least do this. “I have to --” 

“Hey,” he says. Thumbs soothing against her cheeks. “None of that.”

“But-” she says, and he pulls her up his body. “But,” she says again, her hand coming off his dick. He sits up straight, and she settles back on his thighs. 

“Hey,” he says, when she’s settled on him. “Hey,” he says, fingers digging into her pulled-back hair, and pulling her face to his. “There’s no race, sweetheart,” he says. Kisses her ear. Teases teeth and tongue and beard down her neck. Keeps his hands on her hips. 

“You won’t give it to me,” she says. “Any of it. I want- Don’t you want --”

He groans, buries his face in her shoulder. Swears in French. “You’ve got no idea how much I want,” he says. His hands rub circles on her lower back. “And I will,” he says, pulling back to look at her. “But I ain’t hurting you.” 

He looks a little like he’s wrestling with the irony of it, but Deanna feels her heart leap. “You promise?” she asks.

“Which part?” he asks. Hand still rubbing circles on her lower back, fingers brushing against the waistband of her shorts. 

“All of it,” Deanna says.Wiggles a little. “That you do. That you will. That you won’t.”

“Christ,” Benny swears. Eyes dark and lips parted. Tugs her hand to where he’s still rock hard between them. “You feel that, don’t you? Feel how hard I am for you? It’s my permanent state of being, and I’m not some teenage half-wit who gets hard every time there’s a breeze. But you’re a perfect little thing, and I’m not hurting you, even if I am already going to hell.”

“Oh,” Deanna says. Works her hand up and down his cock, tries not to - giggle or preen at how he responds to her. “What can I - what do you want?”

He forces his eyes back open. “Feels good,” he says. “This.” She rubs her thumb across his head, spreading precome. He groans. “Felt good when you were kissing me. Licking me.”

She pushes him back against the half-raised lounge. Wiggles herself down the chair to set herself up by his cock. She can hear birds chirp from a nearby tree, answering calls coming back quickly. Lays her head on his thigh so she has a close-up view of his cock, can watch her hand move up and down on him, can turn in to press kisses to it or - sucks a ball into her mouth and plays with it. She watches the way his hip muscles twitch when she moves her hand this way or that, sees how he responds when she twists her hand that way, when she comes in to swirl her tongue around his frenulum or runs her thumb across his slit, when she licks the seam of his balls. 

He keeps up a steady stream of _yeah_ and _yes_ and _there_ and _so good for me_ , his hand at the base of her neck impossibly hot. She sneaks a hand down to slip into her shorts, wet and hungry. 

“Wanna try,” she says, slipping her hand out, moving back to her hands and knees.

“Getting close,” he warns. “And-”

“Promise,” Deanna purrs. “I just-” Dipping her head to lick up the length of him. “Want some of you in me,” she says. Sucks his head into her mouth, applies as much suction as she can, bobbing. Pulls off with her eyes closed. Keeps jacking his cock. “I just - want you so bad,” she whimpers, letting it spill out of her. Rolls her hips into nothing as she keeps jacking him. She opens her mouth, working him again. She gets a bit deeper as she brings her hand up to meet her mouth. Twisting her hand slick around him. She flicks her tongue across the slit and he shudders. 

“Deanna,” he groans, warns, and she freezes, not sure if she should pull off or push deeper. He solves the conundrum by tugging at her shoulder until she pops off. He holds her there with one hand, the other twining with hers and stripping over his own cock, as he groans and shudders and comes while she holds his gaze. His eyes slam shut as he comes, most of it ending up on his own stomach, but a hot string gets her in the jaw, the cheek, her eyes closing automatically. When she opens them again, he’s staring at her like his brain is broken. She slides her fingers up to find the come on her face and pulls it back, staring at it curiously. She opens her mouth and slides her fingers in to suck them clean, frowning a little at the taste. She’ll get used to it, she thinks. 

Benny goes from a slumped post orgasmic heap to a whirlwind of hands in the blink of an eye. Kissing her rough, deep, pulling her on top of him. She works a hand back into her shorts as she grinds against him, and suddenly the world flips and she finds herself below him. He’s so much bigger than her, she thinks fuzzily. So much broader. So strong. 

“Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he says. He reaches behind her to lay the lounger flat. “Going to make you see god,” he says. Crosses her arms over her head and pins her down. Slides his hand into her shorts and works her until she’s a shuddering, keening mess, his beard marking up her neck and chest as he lets his mouth wander. Keeps working her toward a cliff he won’t let her tumble over. He draws back, pulls her shorts all the way off. She has a moment where she thinks vaguely, fuzzily, excitedly, that he’s going to push into her after all, but he just grins at her as he kisses down her stomach, which is, christ, still over the tank still stoved beneath her breasts. Only her breasts themselves are bared to the afternoon sun, reddened by his beard and mouth.

He spreads her legs wide as he settles between them. Lets out a long, low swear as he gazes at her. She feels herself flush, fights the urge to draw her legs together instead of letting herself be bare to the summer sky.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says. Kisses up her thigh. Big hands wrapped around them as he holds them wide, leans in close to breathe along her. She kicks, wiggles, automatically, and he easily holds her still. “Dreamed of you,” he says, and finally, finally, leans in to put his mouth to her. She’s already so wet, but his tongue is impossibly warm and slick, lightning running through her as he finds her clit. Sucks on it lightly, the perfect kind of pressure to make her shiver and twitch, legs shaking against his firm hold.

Her hands come down of their own volition, and she digs her fingers into his short hair. 

She’s not sure what she says as he eats her out, but she’s pretty sure it couldn’t be construed as anything other than begging. Shifting from firming up his tongue to thrust inside her, working it in broad waves across her. She shudders as he works her clit, his grip on her thighs stopping her legs from closing around his head. She stares at the clouds without seeing them, all she can process _hot_ and _wet_ and he stays there as the tremors get closer and closer and she shudders and pulls his head into her as she comes. His mouth is soft, gentle, as she works through the aftershocks. 

“You’re _dripping_ ,” she says when she lets go of his head. When he’s pulled back, looking up her body at her. Face and beard wet.

He grins, feral, licking his lips and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “I could live between your thighs,” he says, and Deanna shudders at it. He dips a finger back into her, just skimming, gentle enough that she doesn’t twitch in overstimulation, gathering up slick to lick from his fingers. 

She gasps, twitching, scrabbles at him with her hands and legs to pull him down to her. She tugs at his shoulder as he hovers over her, kissing him deeply and trying to get him to press her into the lounger. He kisses her, keeps his weight on his elbows, resisting her tug. He shifts a bit and the world goes topsy turvy, and she finds herself sprawled on top of him. Her bare breasts pressed to his chest. He kisses her, shaking her hair from its ponytail, and she wraps her bare legs tighter around his waist, pressing damp to his stomach. Realizes that he still had come on his stomach, his torso, and now she’s pressed all up on it. She’s tired, heavy lidded, and she purrs a bit. Scootches down so that she can tuck her head in under his neck, feel his softened cock brushing against her. He kisses the top of her head, rests his hands at the bare swell of her ass, and she closes her eyes. Toys sleepily with his chest hair with one hand and listens to the waves in the pool, to his heartbeat slowing, synchronizing with her own. 

*

“Wake up, sweetheart,” Deanna hears. Tries to burrow her head a little deeper into her pillow, but her pillow huffs in laughter. There’s a hand running up and down her back, her buttock, waking her slowly. 

“Hi,” she says, sleepy and sated and stretches automatically to kiss Benny. There’s a moment she thinks he’s not going to respond, but he sighs and happily trades slow, sleepy kisses with her. She feels like taffy in the afternoon sun, like an overheated pool of melting sugar, draped all over Benny, lips meeting in quiet exchanges of breath.

“Wouldn’t want you to burn,” he says, finally, pulling back. Cupping her bare ass with his big hands. 

“If you’d done a better job with the sunscreen,” she grumbles. Burrows her face into his chest. “You should,” she says. “Next time.” Kisses his chest. “Do a better job with the sunscreen, I mean.”

He runs a hand up and down her back. “All you have to do is ask,” he says, like she hasn’t been asking him in this way and that _forever_. She bites his shoulder, just a little. He laughs, gives one of her cheeks a smack that sends a hot jolt to the core of her. “I swear, you’re going to be the death of me,” he says. 

“Better me than skin cancer,” she says. She shifts, and they’re definitely a little stuck together in places. “Ew,” she says, but there’s no real heat behind it. 

Benny laughs, and the vibration of it beneath her sends low warmth through her body. “It’ll do that, sweetheart,” he says. She presses her face further into his chest.

Eventually, she lets him bully her into the pool to clean up. She looks around for her shorts and can’t find them, so she makes a clean dive into the pool as is. The cool water is a welcome shock. Comes back up with her breasts tucked away, emerald green bikini visible through the thin white tank. Benny huffs and follows her, naked, into the water. Deanna lets herself relax and float to the surface, water lapping around her as she stares up at the bright blue sky. She bumps up against Benny where he’s leaning against the edge of the pool, watching her. They’re starting to lose the light, sky darkening. Deanna grabs his hand the next time she floats by, bringing it in to kiss his knuckles, searching his face for any sign of regret, but he’s just - looking at her all soft. 

She makes him carry her inside, or she lets him - she feels weirdly bereft whenever he’s not touching her, and she wraps herself around him like an octopus, clinging. He carries her easily, and even though she’s tired from sex and sun, that thrums warm inside her, in her core, and she clings harder. Without asking, he carries to her bedroom. She feels a little embarrassed about some of the kid stuff here, and her bed is only a double. He goes to put her down but she holds on, murmuring dissent in his ear. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says, smoothing his hand along her side until she lets go. He reaches out to peel her wet tank over her head, her bikini. “Wouldn’t want you go get your bed all wet,” he says, low. Standing at the edge of her bed between her spread thighs. 

She realizes suddenly that after all this, it’s the first time he’s seen her entirely naked. He’s openly staring at her, all the fatigue gone from his eyes. She fights a flush. Notices his dick twitch. Raises up on her elbows and scoots further back on her bed. Trails a foot down one of his thighs, rubbing at the muscle there. “I’m cold?” she offers. More asks. “Keep me warm?”

He sighs and shakes his head, and there’s a moment where she thinks he’s going to refuse, but he looks to the ceiling, his mouth cracks into a wry grin and then he crawls, predatory, onto her bed. 

“Again?” he asks, and she knows, somehow, that if she was too fucked out, he’d be perfectly happy to just keep her warm, but she catches his hand, drags it down her bare stomach to lie flat there. “You going to ask nicely?”

She shivers, and not from the cold. “Please, Daddy?” she asks. Biting her lip. 

And he’s gone, he’s lost, she can tell. 

“If you insist,” he says. “And what does my baby girl want?” Flipping his hand over so that the back of his knuckles ghost up and down her stomach. 

“Your fingers,” she says. Feeling them play up the curve of her breast. She tangles her fingers with him and drags his hand down so she can grind up against his palm.

“My fingers where?” he asks. Dips his index between her lips and rubs, teasing. Pulls away as she gasps a little. “Here?” he asks, straddling her and dragging both hands along her ribs in a way that doesn’t quite tickle her. 

“No,” she pouts. 

“Maybe here,” he says, palms cupping her breasts. Pauses to give them a long, slow squeeze, flick at her nipples. 

“Better,” she gasps. Drags her hands up her torso as if chasing his touch. 

“Oh, so here?” He grins, continuing his upward motion, hands brushing the tops of her breasts and cupping her neck and then booping her on the nose. Cupping her face in his palms. She sticks out her tongue at him and he laughs, eyes crinkling, but he stops laughing when she turns her face into his hand and sucks two of his fingers in. She maintains deliberate eye contact as she slowly and deliberately fellates them, bobbing her head to draw them in and out as she works her tongue around and between them. 

“Here,” she says, releasing them with a pop. “Please.” As the pads of his wet fingers catch at the swollen kit of her lower lip. “Inside me, please,” she says, hands still on her breasts, “your fingers, everywhere. Your hands are so big.” And she looks right into his clear blue eyes as she makes inch after inch of his fingers disappear and he groans. 

“Since you asked so pretty, baby girl,” he says, and reaches down to cup her, to slide two fingers into the tight wet heat of her. 

And she’s still playing with her breasts, freezing as he slides both fingers into her, filling her up just right, moaning around the fingers in her mouth. 

She lets go of her breasts and slides her hand down to stroke his cock. The motion feels like it takes forever, up and down. He fits so perfectly in her hand. “You’ll teach me?” she asks. “You’ll teach me how to take it?” 

“Fuck,” Benny gasps out. “Yeah, baby girl.” He says.

“Promise?” She asks through fluttering lashes, thumb rubbing over his head, clenching around the fingers inside of her.

“Promise,” Benny says, offering her his fingers again, which she eagerly opens her mouth for. He presses his fingers against her tongue. She works at the fingers in her mouth and the dick in her hand, her other hand coming down to press at the fingers inside her. The next time he rocks out, she slides her fingers into herself, two, three times, and pulls out. Wraps that hand around his cock as he pressed his fingers back into her again. She moans around him, stroking his cock with a wet hand, fellating his fingers in her mouth, clenching tight around the ones working in and out of her, and he shudders and comes. 

And she keeps sucking on his fingers, clenching around them, and he works them in and out, thumbs her clit, and she comes undone. He leaves them there as she moans and clenches around them, and starts to pull back. She clenches around him, tired and touch sore but dreading being empty, dreading the loss of his touch, and he leaves his fingers there inside her.

“Promise,” he says, kissing her cheek, kissing her temples, and she grumbles sleepily at him as he stays, lets her fall asleep tucked in close, warm and sated and full.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! The world is A LOT. In the meantime, this continues to be a pornography that is happening. It also continues to be beta'd by iroh-lover-69.

Deanna wakes to early morning sun painting red through the insides of her eyelids. Benny’s chest rises and falls evenly below her. They fell asleep last night without either of them thinking to close the blinds, and so the morning sun is painting everything gold. She has hazy memories of waking up at some point in the night to find him looking down at her in the silver of the moonlight, and she smiled at him slowly and pressed her face into him and he kissed her temple. 

Right now, she’s comfortable and drowsy and warm. She shifted at some point overnight so she was on top of Benny, wrapped around him, face tucked into the curve of his shoulder. He smells like sunscreen and chlorine and that damn tempting cologne that always follows him around, and a little like her. She shifts a little to press her face further into him, and she feels his dick nudging up against the back of the thigh she has wrapped around him. All that and his warmth beneath her and she purrs, just a little, rocks just a bit, on instinct. She feels him waking up beneath her, the way his ribcage moves differently under her, against her palm.

“Morning,” she says, kissing his neck, shifting so that she’s lying completely on top of him, legs bracketing his waist, shimmying so that his hard cock rests against her. “To both of you.” There’s a twinge as she does so that tells her that maybe he really should have been a little more thorough with his application of the sun oil on certain places.

“It does that in the mornings sometimes,” he says. Pets her hair. “Don’t feel like you have to do anything about it.”

“Mmmhmm,” she says, pressing her face further into his neck, into his broad shoulder. “And if I want to?” she asks, running the back of her nails across his chest. 

He laughs, low. Kisses her temple. “Well, I don’t think there’s much I could do to stop you.”

She grins into his shoulder. “Damn straight,” she says, and nips the muscle a little, just because she can. She wiggles herself around a bit, smiling behind the curtain of her hair when he lets out a whoof, before she pushes herself up into position above him, straddling his waist. She can feel the cool air more intensely where they were plastered together. His skin feels hot beneath her palms, along the insides of her thighs. Between her thighs. Against her ass, where his dick is standing to attention. “Hi,” she says, leaning forward on one hand, the other coming back to say hello to him again, press him between the curve of her cheeks as she rolls her hips.

“Hello there yourself,” he says, voice smokey and low as he moves his hips with hers. One hand comes up to the curve of her waist, thumb soothing along outside the fine skin of her bellybutton. “You’re looking a little cold,” he says, staring at the taut peaks of her nipples as her breasts sway above him. His other hand cups a breast and she lets out an involuntary noise as his thumb circles a perky nipple. He makes a noise of faux sympathy and brings his other hand up so he can cover both breasts. “Why don’t you come down here, let me warm you up?” he asks, intently watching the expression fluttering across her face as he works her breasts.

She makes a demanding little noise and covers his hands with her own, leaning forward and letting herself just enjoy his big, warm hands and his fingers and the way he tweaks her nipples. She thinks of just how good his mouth had felt on her and shivers. It’s tempting, it’s incredibly tempting, but there’s something she wants more. 

“I could keep you warm,” she says. Giggles. Presses into her knees and quickly shifts so that his dick slaps against his stomach, settles so that she’s rocking her spread lips along him.

His hands leave her breasts and settle at her hips, holding her still, and now she really does feel cold, air raising goosebumps along them.

“Deanna,” he says, and his voice is firm and serious that’s - probably not good. “I meant what I said before.”

“I’m on the pill,” she says, blithely, trying to rock her hips, but Benny’s grip - while not enough to hurt - definitely isn’t going to let her move.

“Don’t be obtuse,” he says. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

She rolls her eyes and leans forward to brace her hands on his broad chest. This time his hands just stay on her hips as she scoots back along his body. She’s wet. Leans into the stretch of her thighs so she can slide her lips along his shaft, the width of him. “But I _want it_ ,” she says with that definitely isn’t a whine. “And you promised.”

His hands on her hips shift back to cup her ass, and she hisses a little because there’s definitely a bit of a sunburn there. 

He groans. Moves his hips with her. “We’ll get there,” he says. “That’s what I promised.”

She huffs. Leans forward to shake her breasts a little closer to his face, because the way he looks at them, at her, is a rush in and of itself. He braces his feet on the mattress so that he can thrust with her, and it’s a kind of lovely blur until one or the other of them gets the timing wrong and she comes crashing down to sprawl across his chest, giggling into the blanket over his shoulder as his chest shakes with laughter. She pets his chest hair, just a little. 

“You promise,” Deanna says, quiet enough that she’s not sure he’s going to hear her. Not sure if he does want him to hear her.

“Hey,” Benny says. Smooths a hand up Deanna’s back, over her shoulder, and uses it to push her hair back from her face. “You worried I’m regretting it?”

“No,” she blusters, but even to her ear it’s not convincing. Tries not to think about every reason he might change his mind, every way that she might -

“Don’t think there’s any coming back from this,” he says, short-circuiting her brain as it spirals. His hand pauses on her back. “That is, unless you --”

She rolls her eyes. Thinks about how silly it sounds coming out of _his_ mouth. “Been wanting you for too long to change my mind now.”

“You could,” he says, looking at her so soft and tender that something in her chest goes as hot as the space between her legs. 

“Not gonna,” she says, firmly, making sure he’s looking her in the eye when she says it. Then: “gotta find a way to shut you up before you say even more stupid shit.”

“I can think of one thing that might work,” he says, grinning dirty at her, and just like that the heat spreads back from her heart to her stomach and lower. He shoves a pillow behind his head and tugs at her thighs, and she lets him guide her up the mattress until she’s settled with her knees bracketing his head and arms braced against the wall and she lets him tug her down to his hungry mouth. 

Everything starts to go a little wiggly and the air roils in her lungs as he keeps working her up and stopping before she comes. Everything liquid wet heat and gasps, his breath against the core of her and beard against her thighs, his hands moving between her lips and her thighs and her buttocks. When he takes his mouth away she whines, even as he presses his wet lips to her inner thigh. “Do this in my bed next time,” he says as she scrabbles at the smooth wall. “Give you something to hold on to.”

She thinks of the ornate headboard and his big bed and she shivers with her entire body, a moment of dizzy anticipation at both the handhold and the concept of _future_ before cursing at him to put his mouth back. He grins up at her with bright teeth and a wet mouth and gives her a little swat on the ass that stings more than it probably should, and dives back in as her body gives a surprised little jolt. He doesn’t tease her this time, just works her slowly and surely up to her release and then over it, hands coming up to her ribs to support her as she shudders and comes and gasps against the wall. 

She goes boneless in his arms, trying not be turned on again already by how easily he can hold her weight. When her legs will take her weight again she flops to the mattress to try to figure out how to return the favor, except she misjudges the width of her double bed with two people in it, and goes ass over tea kettle to the floor, smacking down to the carpet. She lies for a second in surprise, staring up at the ceiling, and Benny’s face appears over the side of the mattress as she starts laughing, concern in his face immediately softening when he sees her giggling.

“Definitely doing that in your bed next time,” she says, and laughs. 

“Sounds like a plan, darling,” he says, smiling fondly down at her. 

She goes to get up and hisses, impact to the carpet and dissipating arousal making her acutely aware of what is definitely a sunburn on her ass. 

“You all right?” he asks, face immediately concerned. 

“Yeah,” she says. Wiggles a bit as he looks her over, naked, face only covered in concern despite the fact that he’s still hard. “Just, uh - bit of a sunburn from yesterday, I think,” she says, craning her neck to try to get a good view of her own backside. 

“Let me see,” he says, and she’s already turning to try to look herself, and as soon as her back is to him he starts laughing.

“Hey!” she snaps, spinning to face him, and he just swings his legs over the side of the bed and tugs her in to stand between them.

“Definitely a bit of a burn,” he says. “But, uh - let me know how this feels,” he says and rests his hands on her ass. Most of his palms feel uncomfortably hot, but there are areas where it’s cooler. He slides his hands down, shifting them, and suddenly it’s only the heat of his skin against her without the uncomfortable heat of the burn, and --

“Do I have your handprints sunburned onto my ass?” she asks, and he nods very, very seriously, giving her ass a firm squeeze where his hands are, and then they’re both laughing.

“Lay down and let me take care of that burn,” he says, pushing her to the mattress. 

“But I want to take care of that,” she says, waving at his dick, which is flagging but makes her mouth water. 

“That’ll keep,” he says, and when she looks posed to say something about the fact that it’s flagging, corrects, “or at least it’ll be around to deal with later.”

She pouts a little, but it really does hurt something after the stinging impact to the burn. He hasn’t been out of her sight since - before - but before he disappears to get some cream he takes a good long look at himself marked on her, then leans down to kiss the hot skin. Draws his tongue across part of her cheek and blows across the wet skin, and the contrast as it cools makes her shiver. So she doesn’t fight it too much when he disappears to fetch the aloe vera. She’s pretty sure this is supposed to be more awkward. She’s afraid that this might be what does it, what twists it, this being out of touching distance, and burrows her face into her crossed arms for what seems like forever as she waits.

The mattress shifts as Benny settles beside her and she burrows deeper. His palm comes down easily, automatically, to rest at the small of her back for a moment before it retreats and she hears the flip of a cap. There’s a long second and then cool gel hits her heated skin and she squawks in surprise. He laughs, and ducks down to kiss the side of her neck before he shifts to straddle her and carefully, meticulously rub aloe vera into her skin. He carefully soothes it where she needs it most, then his hands start to wander up the small of her back, down the tops of her thighs. He pauses and she feels the weight of his gaze on her, and she bites her lip at the tiny little noise he lets out.

“You feeling a little something about seeing yourself marked on my skin?” she asks, all faux innocence. 

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he says, voice wry. 

“Uh huh,” she smirks, throat going dry as he dispenses more aloe onto his palms, moves them to cup her cheeks gently before working it up over her heated skin. His hands smooth more firmly up her sides, around her hips, and she flushes, thinking of how he’d worked sun oil into her skin. She parts her legs, deliberately, feeling cool air touching her in new places. She’s still orgasm-shaky, still slick, wet with saliva and other fluids. Oversensitive but still aching for it. He lets out a little huffing laugh as she looks back over her shoulder at him, and he runs his hands almost innocently up the back of her thighs. 

On the next pass, his fingers train up the soft skin of her inner thighs and then up, up and between them. His fingers slip easily across the outside of her lips, almost as if by accident. The next pass lingers, just a bit. He trails the pad of this thumb up along the seam of her lips, the backs of his fingers on the way down. She spreads her legs as far as she can between his legs where he straddles her, and she parts for him so that the next touch is a finger slipping between her lips. He teases her with it, circling around her clit and then running back, almost dipping inside her before he slides away again, and she comes up on her elbows to scowl impatiently back at him. He smirks, hand shifting to cup her as he comes down on his other elbow, press his mouth to the wing of her shoulder blade as he presses in with one finger, two. Kissing her shoulder, cupping between her thighs and rocking his fingers in and out as she pants into the blanket in the early morning light, breath coming faster and faster until she shudders and comes apart. 

He kisses her shoulder again, her neck, nudges his nose against the side of her face until she turns and he can kiss her.

She can feel him hard against her thigh and she circles her hips a bit, trying to get a bit of grind going, but he kisses her temple and tells her to stay there. He pushes back up on his knees and straddles her, and she turns her face back over her shoulder to watch the way he’s looking at her naked, glistening back as he strips his hand over his cock. The way he’s looking at the pale shadow of his hands marking her. 

“Yeah, you’re definitely not feeling anything seeing that,” Deanna says, all attempts at faux innocence falling into snark. 

“Nahhh,” Benny says. Groans and drops one gentle, careful hand to her hip, working himself faster until he grunts and his eyes slam shut, and he comes, warmth painting along her spine. “Christ,” he says, coming down on his hands and knees above her, letting his softening cock run along the small of her back, well above the burn. 

“Mmmm,” Deanna says, tugging Benny down so that she can kiss him, trying to get him flat beside her, but he kisses her a couple of times and insists on getting a washcloth to clean her up. The cloth is warm and damp and feels refreshing against skin that’s starting to get sticky. “Thank you,” she says, and tangles one hand with hers, pulling it in to kiss the knuckles. 

“Suppose it’s too early to get up,” he says, light from the window belying his claim, and he lets her tug her back into bed.

“Exactly,” she says, shifting around to lay her head against his chest in the morning light, listening to a distant lawnmower start to run. “You can’t leave, you’re my pillow.”

“Wouldn’t want you to do anything to your neck,” he rumbles, one hand cupping it, fingers splaying from the nape and down her spine.

* * *

Neither of them are really much for a lie-in, normally, but it’s probably getting near noon before Deanna’s stomach starts making growling noises. She’s talking absently about the prog rock-pop intersection on _Leftoverture_ , and pauses to glower down at her body for interrupting her. Benny laughs and pats her with the big hand splayed across her stomach.

“Could do with a bite to eat myself,” he says, slowly extricating himself. Leaves his hand on her stomach until she stops sulking at him, then grins down at her. He makes a move as if looking for his clothes before realizing they’re still outside. He shrugs, stretching unselfconsciously as she lets her eyes roam and take him in all at once, something she hasn’t really had a chance to do. “What are you hungry for?” he asks, and she licks her lips. He’s so freaking _solid_ , and, yeah, takes some time to make sure he’s well-groomed.

“Your diiiiick,” she says, and he laughs. 

“Salad it is then,” he says, turning to head - somewhere, presumably the kitchen or his bedroom.

“Love to watch you go,” she says, watching his ass, the muscle of his thighs, his calves, then - “wait, no rabbit food!”

* * *

It’s rude that the world doesn't stop when something this monumental happens to you, Deanna thinks, scowling at the homework spread out across the kitchen table in front of her. It’s rude that she has to go to school tomorrow. It’s rude that her teachers are still going to expect her to have done her homework.

It’s rude that Deanna herself knows she needs to get her homework done. Oldest child syndrome or whatever. Oldest child, she thinks. It’s been two months now, and it still feels weird, not having Sam aroun d to look after. Or hang out with, she guesses. Mary had worked a lot of basically single-parent hours when they were little, and Sam’s always been such a nerd. So yeah, maybe as Mary’s hours evened out Deanna didn’t need to look after Sam, but old habits die hard. And yeah, they skype all the time, and yeah, he’s loving Canada like the big old socialist nerd he is, but it’s not the same. Deanna feels by turns a little lost and a little wildly free. It feels like they haven’t talked in weeks, but she knows - shit, it’s only been a couple of days. It feels like a lifetime ago, back when she’d only fantasized about what Benny’s beard would feel like between her thighs. She bites her lip. 

Benny’s baking cookies, and she keeps looking up over the top of Antigone at him. She abandoned her math homework sometime around the time he cradled a bowl in one arm and started whisking, muscles in his forearms flexing beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. He’s whistling under his breath as he moves through the kitchen, dark slacks and a light henley. She’s caught him looking right at her, caught him sneaking what seems like instinctive glances in reflections in the microwave, the window. And maybe she’s sitting a little provocatively, one leg pulled up on the chair and the other wide, maybe has her arms braced in a way that shows her cleavage to good effect. Might have, once or twice, tugged the bottom hem of her shirt back down when the v started to creep back up to a more normal position. 

The kitchen smells like vanilla and cinnamon and cookies, and she’s honestly not sure if it’s hot from the oven or the day outside or if it’s just the flush running through her own body. She thinks about hopping up on the island across from him, letting her feet swing a little into the air. Thinks about darting in to snag a taste of the batter, deliberately closing her eyes as she sucks her fingers clean. 

Benny’s looking at her in the reflection of the microwave, eyes dark, and Deanna shifts a little and feels herself flush all the way down. She watches intently as he leans forward to open the oven door and the smell of chocolate chip cookies permeates the room. She can see his undershirt through his thin henley as it pulls across his shoulders. She thinks about how it would feel under her fingertips, the ribbed fabric, the heat of his skin. 

“Going to grab a couple seconds of fresh air,” Deanna says, and the next thing she knows she’s in the pool, cool, soothing water surrounding her as she exhales and stares up at the clouds through the flickering surface of the water. She breaks the surface and takes a long, deep inhalation. Apparently, she had the presence of mind to strip down to her underwear before hopping in, and she pushes off the side easily and swims laps until her brain settles down a bit.

She feels silly but more focused as she wiggles back into her t-shirt and shorts, fabric sticking to her damp skin. The AC inside chills her instantly, and she can feel her damp skin prickling, her nipples peaking. Benny’s standing at the table, one hand splayed to the wood, other holding a cookie. He looks up from her homework to her, and the hand with the cookie stops halfway to his mouth.

“Hi,” she says, feeling a little silly as her hair drips to her shirt, as she drips to the floor. “Needed to cool down a bit,” she says.

Benny’s mouth snaps closed and he swallows with an audible noise. “Helped?” he asks, and his eyes track the rivulets of water she can feel running down her neck. 

“Bit,” Deanna says, and she’s chilled and hot all at the same time, shivering from - something.

“Good,” he says, voice a low burr. Takes a bite of his cookie almost absently, and his face screws up. “For the love of-” he says. Glares at the cookie. 

“Wait, did _you_ make a mistake?” Deanna asks, which is - mindblowing, because Benny is an absurdly good baker.

“Second batch I’ve ruined today,” he admits. “Forgot the eggs.” Puts the cookie down on the edge of the table, and part of Deanna wants to remind him to get a damn plate, but - “This isn’t working,” Benny says, gesturing at the kitchen. “I keep getting too damn distracted and forgetting something. Last time I swapped the salt and the sugar,” he says. “And look, been a long time since I took calculus, but I doubt the answer to this question is actually an ankh.”

“I’m distracting?” Deanna asks, stepping closer, leaving wet footprints on the tile. It feels good.

“The hell do you think I’m doing so much baking?” Benny asks. Hisses a little as she presses her cool, damp body along his, his hands settling on her hips. “Stress relief.”

“Wait,” Deanna says, pausing before plastering herself against him, because now that she thinks about it, there’s been an uptick in the baked goods over the last few months as she got more and more brazen. “Is that why the-”

Benny huffs against the top of her head. “Don’t know why I kept with it,” he says. “Not like watching you rapturously eat pie improved the situation any. Though I suppose, in retrospect--”

Deanna laughs. “Honestly wasn’t trying anything with that,” she says. “Your baking really is just that good.” She rubs her wet face against his neck, and he sputters. “But you’re probably right about the homework,” she says. She wraps her arms around her neck and hops up to kiss him. He smells like vanilla and she grins against his mouth before she unwinds and bounces off to try to integrate without distractions. 

(And really, working in her room is an improvement but not a cure, because Deanna usually makes her bed every morning with sharp corners, but she’s left the sheets rumpled and the blankets everywhere, and every time she catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of her she gets distracted.)

( _Anything wrong?_ Charlie asks, voice ringing through Deanna’s headset while they’re playing Fortnite. _You definitely should have been able to avoid that._

_Nah,_ Deanna says, uncertain if her voice is a little dreamy, if she sounds like she’s shifting distractedly.

_Okay,_ Charlie says, and murders the hell out of her.)

* * *

Deanna lost track of what was happening on the tv ages ago, and now she can’t even remember what they were watching. It’s all white noise, a distant babble that mixes with her beating heart as she lets out what is definitely not a _whine_ , no matter how Benny chuckles at it. She squirms in his lap, couch cushions giving beneath her knees. Presses her breasts to his chest and nips at his earlobe. It cuts off the laugh and his hands tighten on her ass but he doesn’t move them to where she really wants them. They’re both fully dressed, if a little askew, despite her best efforts. _Lazy Sunday afternoon makeouts_ , he’d said when he tugged her onto her lap, and it was nice at first, and more than nice, but now -- 

“I’m going to die,” she tells Benny, very seriously. She has no idea how long they’ve been making out, but his steadfast refusal to put his hands anywhere but over her clothing is - “Is that what you want? For me to die?”

He flattens a palm against the small of her back and leans in to kiss her collarbone. “You got me,” he says. Kisses the exposed swell of one breast, then the other. “Found out about the necrophilia.” Kisses her mouth and slides a hand up under the hem of her shirt. “Nothing to do with how gorgeous you look right now.”

She scowls and tugs at his short hair in response, feeling her face color like it does whenever he says something sweet. He just smiles against her skin and slides a hand along her thigh, another up to massage one of her breasts, and she lets out an impatient noise and goes for his pants again. This time he moves like lighting, bearing her to the cushions, weight settling over her on the couch and she feels herself grin. “That’s a little more like it,” she says, wrapping her legs around his waist and arms around his broad shoulders and rocking up. His mouth finds her neck and she lets her head fall back as he nuzzles in, one muscular arm braced over her head and the other roaming her body. 

“Want to watch you touch yourself,” he growls into her ear. “Can I?” he asks. “Will you show me? Let me see how you get yourself off?”

“Yeah,” she gasps, going a little dizzy at the thought of so much attention on her. “Uh. Yeah, I can -” 

“Yeah?” he says. “You’ll show me how you like to be touched?”

“Yeah,” she says, gasps, tightening her legs around him so that her entire back comes up off the couch. 

He kisses her again, deep, then leans himself upright. Lounges, almost, back against the arm of the couch, but his grip keeps her legs splayed around him and his hands on her thighs are tight in anticipation. He runs his hands up and down her denim-clad thighs and she grins up at him. 

“Help me get the pants off?” she asks, all faux innocence, and he makes quick work of them before settling her legs back around his lap. She strips her shirt over her head and sprawls back. Her bra is black and her underwear is blue and he gives absolutely no indication he even notices they don’t match, clear blue eyes dark with want. She cups her breasts, works the already-perky nipples through the lacy fabric. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice low like smoke, and she closes her eyes to luxuriate in it. Slides a hand down and into her panties. She’s been on edge for what feels like forever, already slick when she parts her own lips. She starts to circle her finger around her clit when she hears a low groan escape Benny. She owlishly blinks her eyes open and finds him transfixed on the way the fabric stretches across her hand. 

“Panties too,” she says. “If you really want to see, I mean.” Tries her best to make the words seductive but can’t help the question that sneaks in at the end. Before she’s even finished speaking, though, his hands are curling at the elastic waist of her underwear, shifting her legs easily to pull the panties down and off and - somewhere, she thinks, probably, because he’s pulling her in so that her legs are spread across his lap, one calf over the back of the couch and the other looped around him. His palms spread and run soothingly up her shins, her thighs, her hips, before he settles back to watch her with dark-blown eyes. 

“Best view in the house,” he says, staring at her intently as she feels herself blush. “Show me,” he says, voice low, as she bites her lip.

She comes up on her elbows, twists behind herself to release her bra and bare her breasts to the air and his gaze. She brings her hands back to them, nipples tight and responding differently without lace against them. She stays there for a while, slow, working them as she rolls her hips and pulses internal muscles, before she slowly, slowly, walks her right hand down her ribs, her stomach, to cup her vulva. She rubs small circles there while her left hand to creeps to join it. Her hips are lifted, splayed wider than normal by Benny’s lap, but she uses her left hand to hold her lips open so he can see everything as she slides her right down to touch herself. She closes her eyes then, so she can breathe a little more easily, settle into the familiar rhythm. When she opens them he’s staring so intently at the way her fingers move around her clit, slide back and into herself.

“Thought about this,” she says. Slips two fingers into herself. “You watching me.” They’re so much smaller than his. “Used to sleep in one of your old t-shirts and wonder what would happen if you walked in on me touching myself.”

Benny swears. Hands coming down to rest on her thighs, watching the rhythm she sets. “That where they all disappeared to?”

She moans. Fingers working faster. “Stole a few. Wondered if you’d punish me.”

His hands tighten on her knees and she rolls up into the touch. 

“Close,” she says, and he drags his eyes back down to where she’s rocking in and out of herself, where she pulls back and start rubbing at her clit as her breaths get shorter, jagged, until it crashes over her like a wave, her legs spasming against the grip on her thighs. 

“Show me,” she says when she can breathe again, sprawled naked on her back across the couch, hair spread in a halo around her. Looking up her body, she can see he’s hard. “How you do it,” she says. Part of her wants to search for sexier words, but her monkey brain is just stuck on ‘now’ and ‘mine’ and ‘please.’

“Oh, baby girl,” Benny says, and makes quick work of his buttons, his zipper. He pushes his pants and his boxers down, like he can’t bear the thought of unwinding her from around his waist even as he gets himself out.

Deanna shifts, flailing around blindly behind herself to find a cushion to use to prop herself up to watch the way his hand moves over himself. The kind of pressure he uses, the twisting stroke, how he rubs his thumb over the head, how he cups his balls. When she slides her gaze up to his face, he’s watching hers, watching her lick her lips as she does her best to memorize everything that works him higher, harder, closer.

“Yeah,” Deanna says, watching the way his hand curls around his dick, the way one comes down to roll his balls, and then her goddamn mouth gets away from her again and she starts spilling words without thought, about how her hands are so much smaller and can’t wrap around him like that, asking where he’s sensitive, watching the way he lingers at his balls, his frenulum, asking if it was good when she put her mouth there. Her legs are still splayed around him and she fights the urge to wrap them close, watching down her naked body as Benny’s hand moves faster and faster until his muscles go tense and his dick jerks in his hand. His eyes slam shut and he lets out a long, low, groan as come hits her stomach.

“Christ,” he says, opening his eyes slowly, taking in the sight of her. He lets out a long, low breath and rests his hand on her inner thigh. “Think you missed the point of sitting back and watching,” he says, trailing a gentle finger back and forth across the fine skin of her inner thigh. 

Deanna smirks. “You complaining?” she asks and wiggles happily, stretching her arms back over her head and turning her face back to the tv. “What fresh hell has autoplay brought us to?” she asks, scowling at what she won’t admit to definitely being a chick-flick. 

“Go ahead and change it,” Benny says, tossing her the remote. He pats her thigh and gets up to get a washcloth. When he settles down to clean her up, she wraps one of her legs around his waist and leaves it curled there, holding him close, so that he can’t get up again to deal with the washcloth. He starts to say something about it, but she tightens her leg and tugs until he gets with the program and comes down to kiss her again. She makes a happy little noise and gropes him a little before letting him up. He sits there with her, watching the movie she’s made no move to change, his hand resting warm on her stomach where the skin prickles with evaporating water.

* * *

“Supper?” Benny asks while the end credits roll. 

“Pizza?” she asks, and when he goes to call in an order she quickly throws her clothes back on, not wanting to admit to the chill that had crept into her from the AC partway through the movie. “Pepperoni!” she yells, pulling her bra from behind the couch and sliding it back on. 

“- and a margherita,” she hears him say as she checks between the cushions, and gives up on her panties. She’d been too comfortable where she was, with his hand splayed across her stomach, to want to move, but she has to admit she feels a bit more comfortable dressed, a retroactive embarrassment she fights back. She has no idea where her underwear ended up. She slides her shorts on commando and wonders why that, of everything, gives her a little thrill.

The kitchen tiles are cool beneath her bare feet, and she fights the urge to hiss a little. “Backyard?” she asks, and he nods and pulls a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and hands them to her.

“Go on,” he says. “I’ll wait for the delivery.”

“Okay,” she says. Hovers for a second, uncertain, then darts in to press a quick kick to his lips. 

“Go on, now,” he says, and drops a fond hand to her ass, apparently resting just long enough to tell that her panty lines are gone, because he raises an eyebrow. She kisses him again, quick, then heads outside. She may or may not let her hips swing a little.

It’s starting to edge into evening, and while the day may have lost its bite there’s still plenty of heat, and she sprawls out on a chair and lets it soak into her bones. She must drift in it, because it feels like only seconds later there’s a hand resting on her ankle, and the scent of delicious, delicious cheese and pepperoni wafting from the patio table.

“Pizza’s on, sleepyhead,” he says. He offers her his hand, seems surprised when she tugs it in so she can kiss his wrist, but he smiles as he pulls her to her feet.

They eat supper under the darkening blue sky, pizza right out of the boxes, and she can hear the distant sound of someone mowing their grass. She sits with her right leg drawn up on her chair and inhales slice after slice and they talk about whatever comes to mind, and everything is disorientingly normal except for the fact that her left foot plays up and down his calf. 

That night he wraps her hands around the ornate metal of his headboard and she holds on as best she can, shaking thighs spread around his shoulders.

* * *

Deanna does her best not to daydream in class, she really does, but there’s beard burn on her inner thighs and her muscles are aching and she still has a sunburn, and before she scrambled out the door for the bus Benny made her come so hard she saw stars; and really, taken together it all comes together in a pleasant blurring ache of reminders that makes her want to squirm at her desk. She does her best to keep her mind on class, but government is as boring as it ever is and even AP calculus seems to drone on as she tries her best to at least keep her eyes focused on Mr. Fitzgerald.

She must not do as good of a job as she thinks, though, because Charlie shoves her own notes into Deanna’s hands as they file out of class with the bell. 

“Boy?” Charlie asks.

Deanna sputters. “No-”

“Girl?” Charlie asks, eyebrow raised.

“ _No_ ” Deanna hisses, feeling her voice and the color in her cheeks rising.

“Yeah, sure,” Charlie says, and shoves her notes into Deanna’s bag. “Don’t tell me then, you giant weirdo.”

* * *

Deanna wants to send a text. Wants to send a pic. Something filthy or flirty: _want you; can still feel you; the entire football team put together isn’t half as hot as you_ , slip into the bathroom and take a cleavage shot, a closeup of her parted lips as she bites her thumb. Something relatively innocent: a twentieth and final selfie where she finally looks casual and cute and unposed, _thinking of you_.

She wants to but she stays her hand, not sure if it’s too much, if it’s over a line. Afternoon passes in a less pleasant blur. She’s afraid the bubble will burst. By the time she’s home and sitting on the couch, she has no idea what she’s watching as she waits for Benny to get home for work. She doesn’t see the tv, just a looming image of Benny’s face being grave and serious when he walks through the door. 

When he finally gets home, steps in from the garage, she sees immediately that his face is the same as it’s ever been, and it feels like a dam inside her bursts. She has a vague impression that she vaults something on her way to throw herself at him. He catches her easily, hands curling under her thighs as he takes her weight, and, god, that in and of itself does something to her, that strength. 

“Hello there, darling,” he says, voice low.

She wraps her arms around his neck and presses their foreheads together. “Missed you,” she says. Presses their foreheads together for a long moment before she dives in to press her lips to his. His hands flex on her ass as she kisses him deep, searching, without much preamble, and he makes a surprised little noise as she kisses him harder. 

He kisses her back, but softer, matching her intensity and then working her down. Pulls back and presses their foreheads together. “Missed you too,” he says. “But what’s this now?”

“What’s what?” she asks. Her chest feels tight. She tries to kiss him but he pulls back, and if her legs were on the floor she’s pretty sure she’d be stomping a foot in frustration. 

“Deanna,” he says. His hands shift from groping to supporting, and she lets out a frustrated noise and unwinds her legs from around him. “Feels a little like a full-frontal assault, here.”

“I just wanted -” she says. Clears her throat as her feet hit the ground. Her voice isn’t thick. “Don’t you want --” She turns her face.

“Oh, baby girl,” Benny says. Brings one hand up to cup her jaw, turn her face back towards him. “You worried when I was away from your charms, my brain would start working again?”

“No,” Deanna says. Huffs. Crosses her arms but lets Benny tilt her face up. “My charms are the charmiest. I’m magically delicious.” 

Benny’s lips quirk and he lets out a low laugh. She feels her heart surge, a roiling mess of anxiety and insecurity and want. He tucks his hand under her chin and tilts her face up towards him. Kisses her forehead and laughs as she scowls, then comes down to kiss her lips. Gentle. Pulls back when she tries to make it deeper. “We should talk,” he says.

She feels her stomach lurch and tries again to kiss him. “I can think of better things we could be doing,” she says.

Benny tucks her hair behind her ears and smiles down at her. It’s soft and doesn’t look at all like someone about to deliver some incredibly awkward news. “Meant what I said,” he tells her. “All of it. I’m in this.”

“Yeah?” she asks, feeling that dumb neediness creep into her voice.

“Promise,” he says, running his thumbs along the corner of her eyes for no reason in particular.

“I mean, of course you are,” she blusters. “I mean, look at all this,” she says, waving a hand up and down her body. 

He laughs and leans in to kiss her. It’s - nice. It’s really nice. She didn’t realize how frantically she’d pressed her mouth to his until now, and she likes the long, slow, press of lips they exchange, how solid he is as she wraps her arms around him. “I’m here,” he whispers as their lips part, “Swear,” against the shell of her ear, and she shudders a little with it. 

Eventually, he tugs her towards the stairs, and up to the master bedroom. His hand is warm around hers and their fingers twine, and when he pulls her into bed she expects things to start ramping up but they just - stay nice. Tangled up together. His pillows are soft and the duvet is fluffy and poofs up around them, cradling them. They trade long, languid kisses, mouth to mouth to neck to forehead. Eventually, she sneaks a hand between them to rub at him through his pants, because she can feel he’s hard, but he snags her hand and redirects it, placing it on the small of his back. 

“Do you actually _want_ to start something right now?” he asks. “Honestly, now.” The first real words either of them have spoken since the dim warmth of the bedroom closed in around them. The blinds are closed and the air conditioning was off during the day, so everything feels warm and low and slow. 

“Duh,” she says, but even she can feel the question mark in her voice.

“Right,” he says. Kisses her temple and the corner of her mouth. “Well, unfortunately for you I’m an old man, and this is about my pace right now. Good?”

She curls her fingers into the undone buttons of his shirt, just to have something to hang on to. “If you insist,” she says, and nuzzles gratefully into him. Shifts and little to throw a leg over his hip and press her face closer. At some point, it becomes more cuddling than making out, wrapped up in each other with occasional presses of lips. 

“Wasn’t sure how this works,” she tells his collarbone, eventually. “If I could just touch you without --” 

He lets out a huffing laugh. “You can touch me however you want,” he says. “Whenever you want. All you have to do is ask.”

A happy little noise that definitely isn’t a purr escapes her, and she pulls back just enough to drop a kiss to his jaw.

Benny’s hand comes up, fingers working at knots at the base of her neck. “Think I didn’t worry the same about you?” he asks.

Deanna freezes at that, because the thought really, honestly, truly, hadn’t crossed her mind. “Don’t be silly,” she says, and her words are light but her tone isn’t, and she pulls back just enough to meet his eyes as she repeats the words. 

His eyes are very serious as he pauses, and - “You know you can’t tell anyone about this, right?” he asks.

Deanna fights the urge to roll her eyes, because she’s not dumb, but - “Yeah,” she says. “I know,” and “promise,” because she’s also not _dumb_ and she knows she needs to take it seriously. “Charlie figured _something_ was up,” she says, in the interest of full disclosure. “But I didn’t say anything, I swear.”

Benny’s fingers on her neck release one of the tight muscles he was working on. “I believe you,” he says as she goes a little limper. “I just needed to-”

“Yeah,” she says. Presses her face in the hollow of his neck. “I get it.”

He makes a noise in his throat, like he wants to say something else. Breathes. “I don’t gotta tell you what’s at stake,” he says, finally. “You’re not stupid.”

She presses her finger to his collarbone, picks at the collar of his shirt. “I know,” she says, and tries not to think of the weight of it, what he’s risking. Beats down a part of her brain wondering if she’s worth it. Tries not to let a thrill go through her that he wants her that much. 

Benny’s hand traces up and down her spine and they lie there, wrapped up in each other. Deanna can smell faint traces of his woodsy cologne still lingering after the day, and they float there in the warm dimness and poofy sheets, until she giggles a little.

“Anything?” she asks. Trailing a fingertip down his shoulder instead of a flat palm. “What if I just want to play with your dick?” she asks. “Not now,” she clarifies when he grumbles. “But sometime. What if I just want to - see how it responds?”

He kisses the top of her head. “Be fine by me,” he says. 

“You could do the same to me,” she says. He makes a noise that somehow sounds like an eyebrow raise, and she bites the corner of her lips. He’s said - he said he’s fantasized about her, and she wants to _know_. “Not with - but if you wanted - something.”

“I can think of a few things,” he says, and it’s curious but without pointed intent, and his hand keeps running up and down her back as she curls into him, pressing her face to his neck as she falls asleep.

* * *

Deanna feels a little like she’s holding her breath, waiting for something to shift. And some things do, obviously. Her things move, gradually, into his room. Shirts she leaves on the floor end up folded in a drawer. Her hair ties accumulate on the bathroom counter. 

He still won’t fuck her.

“Not gonna hurt you,” he says, hand pushing through her hair, and the only thing that stops her from stomping her foot and rolling her eyes is a worry that’ll make her look like a child. “Pick something else,” he says. “Come on,” he says, tilting her face up. “Anything else you’ve been wanting to try?”

“Your dick right up in me,” she mutters under her breath, because she _wants_ , but smiles innocently as he laughs, and makes a posed thinking face. Pushes him back onto the bed. He goes easy, even though he’s so much stronger, so much bigger than her. He grins up as she looms over him. “Sixty-nine?” she asks, crawling onto the bed. On top of him. She likes his mouth. She likes his fingers. She likes his dick. She likes the idea of getting all of that at once. 

He laughs, and this time she pauses. “What?” she asks, suddenly feeling exposed or silly, or vulnerable. 

“Nothing,” he says. Hands reaching out to curl around her thighs before she can retreat. “Nothing, baby girl. I’m more than up for it.”

“But,” Deanna says. Waiting. His thumb plays against the skin exposed by her shorts.

“But,” he says, nodding in acknowledgment. “Been my experience it never really goes how you think. Hard to focus.”

“Oh,” she says. Flushing. His experience. Her face is hot. She feels young.

“Hey,” he says. Runs his hands up to her hips to settle her more firmly on him. “Never done it with you.”

“I mean, yeah,” she says, bravado in her voice. Tossing her hair over her shoulder and reaching up her arms to show off her breasts. Wiggling a bit on top of him. “Maybe I’ll be the one to make it good.”

And he growls and surges for her, and it's’ no time at all before they’re naked and settled, Benny on his back and her sprawled out on top of his broad chest, his hands wrapped around her thighs to keep her in place so he can eat her out while she sucks him off, but he’s RIGHT, it is awkward. Everything is upside down and backwards and she loses her rhythm every time he does that thing with his tongue, or his dick curves differently than she expects and it pushes up against her gag reflex. Eventually, she pulls off, keeps her fist loose around the base of his dick, and presses her forehead into the skin inside his hip and starts _giggling_. 

He laughs with his mouth against her and that - well, that’s an interesting kind of good reverberating through her, but he takes his mouth away, and she wiggles so that her thighs are splayed around his neck rather than his face. 

“So,” he says.

“Okay, you’re right,” Deanna says. “This is terrible.” She scowls at his dick. “But don’t you _dare_ say ‘I told you so.’”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. His hands slide up to play with her ass, fingers clenching and releasing. “Was just gonna tell you to get on up here,” he says, massaging her ass.

“No,” she says. “I want to suck your dick first.” It’s still in her curled hand, hot and huge and hard, and she gives it a slow jack. She was just starting to get used to the angle, how it curved towards her throat. She turns her hand to look at it. Her other hand is on his muscular thigh and she brings it in to cup his sac. “Please?” she asks, kissing his hip. “Please?” kissing his pubis. Pressing closed lips to the side of his dick.

He swears long and deep and she shifts, dropping an open-mouthed kiss to the head. “Please?”

“Christ,” he says. Hands tightening on her ass. “Yes. _Please_.”

“Do me a favor?” she asks, looking away from his dick and back over her shoulder. “Put your fingers inside? Feel so empty.” Her thighs tense at the thought of it. 

“Yeah,” Benny says. “Yeah, I can do that.” His hands move, one leaving her ass, the other spreading her lips. She hears a wet noise and then his fingers are back, wet with his saliva, teasing at her only briefly before he pushes in. She clenches around him, just checking. His thumb rubs soothingly at the crease of her thigh, his palm hot where it’s cupping her between her thighs. She kisses his thighs. She wiggles around a bit until she’s really comfortable, then braces her forearms on his solid thighs. Looks at his cock like it’s a challenge she’s decided to conquer and dives in. He groans as she takes him as deep as she can, hands working the rest. She’s not sure if it’s the angle or her concentration but she gets him a bit deeper, working up and down. He groans the loudest when she flicks her tongue across his slit, thumb rubbing his frenulum. His hips below her give the tiniest, constrained, abortive thrusts. Part of her wishes he’d let loose a little more, thrust a bit, just a bit, come undone a bit more, but she’ll get him there. She’s torn between closing her eyes to really focus on the angle, on his dick and fingers filling her so sweet, and keeping them open to watch how the muscles twitch in his thighs, and his balls move. She changes up her motion, doing long, slower, sucks, as she switches to one hand on his dick and the other cupping his balls. She clenches on the fingers inside of her and goes to town, eyes drifting closed as his abortive thrusts get close together and his breath comes quick. 

“Deanna,” he warns. Voice almost as rough as if he was the one who’d had a dick in there. “Deanna,” he says again, warning, and she seals her lips around his head and _swallows_. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, in a few seconds or a few minutes, when his chest below her has settled from gasping breaths. Her hand is curled lightly, so light, around his slick dick as it softens, and she has the side of her face pressed to her hip to watch. She presses a wet kiss to his skin. She clenches around his fingers, still solid inside her. The core of her is hot. “Your mouth,” he says. “Should be illegal,” he says, then pauses and laughs wryly and shakily at himself. She rocks against his han. He sighs. “And this _view_ ,” he says. The fingers pressed inside her start to move, easy and slick. His other hand runs across one cheek, then the other. Spreading them wide as he raises his head and exhales hot air across her skin. 

Deanna takes a long, steadying breath. Braces her hands on his hips and pushes up, looking back over her shoulder so he can see the curve of her ass, the swell of her breasts, so her waist narrows. “No wonder you’re illegal,” he says. Slides his fingers out of her even though she whines. Curls his fingers around her hips, wet fingertips against skin, and pulls her back so that she’s straddling his mouth. She flails behind her for support as his fingers tighten on her thighs and his mouth finds her clit. One hand finds the ornate headboard and she hangs on for dear life, the other dancing, fluttering, between working her own breast and curling with the ones on her thighs.

* * *

“I want more,” Deanna says. Gasps. Benny’s got two fingers inside her and his mouth on her breast. She has her fingers skitting over the back of his neck. She’s close. “More,” she gasps. “Please, I need-” She was thinking about another finger, about his dick, but all thoughts fall out of her head as he tests his teeth gently against her nipple. She lets out a noise that she had no idea she was capable of and digs her fingers into his neck as the suction increases, as his fingers fuck into her faster, harder. 

When her eyes have uncrossed and her breathing has evened out, she thinks - yeah, that was a reasonable interpretation. Also - nipping, yeah, that’s - that’s apparently a thing. That she’s going to have to explore more. 

Deanna rolls over and gently bites Benny’s shoulder as it works as he jacks himself. He shudders a bit, and she works her hand down to twine her fingers with his around his dick, pressing her mouth to his deltoid as they work him over the edge.

* * *

_Don’t want to hurt you_ , Benny says. Always says. Follows up by making her come so hard the world spins. 

“More,” Deanna says. Outside, under the blue sky, stretched out on a lounger they’ve laid flat, pool lapping by her head. He has two fingers in her. This time she catches his hand, ghosting her thumb across his wrist as she drags him up her body. Pull his fingers, wet with her, into her mouth, and makes eye contact as she sucks them clean. Works them in and out of her mouth as his pupils blow and he makes a noise like he’s dying. She works his fingers in and out, releases them with a pop before she catches his gaze again and deliberately, slowly, sucks three fingers into her mouth. 

“Christ,” Benny says. Stays frozen as she works his fingers, sucking them deep, twisting her tongue around them. 

“Please,” Deanna says as she lets his fingers slip from her mouth. “Please,” she repeats, spreading her legs even farther. 

Benny lets out a shaky exhale and buries his face in her neck. “Okay,” he says, and slides down her body. Kisses her thigh. Noses along her slit, tongue moving easily. “Tell me if you need a minute,” he says. Slides one finger inside her, so easy. The second goes just as sweet, and she lets out a happy little sigh. He moves them inside her, easy, slow, scissoring in a way that makes her think she’s about to lose her mind. There’s a really good kind of burn when he scissors his fingers, the start of the pressure she’s been looking for. 

Benny stills his hand. He presses his mouth to her thigh and pulls back a bit. His fingers leave her and come back, three tucked in together, and it’s - definitely more than two. He presses them into her, slow, and she exhales and tries to relax. The burn is back, more this time, and she breathes into it. He presses in, not far, and pauses. His fingers are big. Of course. He has big hands, big fingers. She’s spent enough time with them in her mouth to know. 

“Deanna,” he says, looking up her body. Concern in his voice.

“Just need a second,” she says, because her body is already starting to adjust. Starting to feel full rather than over-full. She can feel the tension dropping off her face. Wants to get him deeper inside. 

“We can try again another day,” he says, pulling his fingers slowly out. Leaving her feeling more acutely empty than she can remember. 

“I just needed a moment,” she says. Wants him back between her thighs instead of hovering over her. 

“How about I put my tongue as deep inside you as I can get?” he offers.

She shudders a bit because that’s - that’s always good, but - “Tongue and a finger?” she asks, trying to keep her voice light like it’s some kind of compromise, instead of something that makes her quiver. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice low and hoarse. He presses his palms along the core of her to part her lips. Slips one thumb inside her, then the other. They’re bigger than two other fingers, and she can already feel a good kind of burn, a pressure she’s been looking for. He drops his head low so that all she can see is the top of his head, her fingers curling in his short hair. He slides his tongue around and between his thumbs. Beard prickling at her skin when he travels outside his hands. He works his thumbs out, tugging a little at her rim, before sliding a finger in and working his tongue in with it. 

Deanna whimpers and whines and lets him take her apart.

* * *

The thing is.

The thing is, though.

The thing is, that she thinks - it’s probably going to hurt, just a little. At first. She thinks of starting training for volleyball again in the fall, after a summer off. The week or two where it was more effort, until her muscles smartened up. 

_Don’t want to hurt you_ , Benny says. Always says. Follows up by making her come so hard the world spins. 

And it’s not - it’s not that she wants him to _hurt her_ , not for real, but she thinks maybe it’s going to start out uncomfortable. _He doesn’t think you can take it_ , an asshole part of her brain mutters, as she stares at the wall in the shower. She’s a bit sore from practice, a bit raw between the thighs. The hot water pounds down around her, though, a steamy drum that’s already working her muscles loose. She turns into the shower wall, letting the spray hit her from the side. Braces one arm against the tile and tucks her face into her bicep. She can already feel her breath coming a little faster as her other hand snakes down her body, and she brings her foot up onto the tub ledge. 

One finger slides inside her easy, two. Her fingers are a lot smaller than Benny’s. Three edge inside her fairly easy to start. Just the tips. It’s a bit of a stretch, but nothing like his. It gets harder when she tries to push in deeper, both the way they widen to her palm and the angle. In a bath, maybe, she thinks. Try in a bath, she thinks, going down to two fingers and grinding against her palm, curling her fingers in that familiar way until she tips over the edge.

* * *

The bath is easier, when she tries it the next day. The day after that. Seeing how much she can take. Easier doesn’t mean easy, though, and she wishes a little wildly she was old enough to get herself a proper toy. Get herself a few, in increasing size. She thinks about asking Charlie, who has access to accounts and age circumventions in ways she doesn’t, but can’t quite bring herself to bring Charlie into this any more than she already is. Not that Deanna’s never used, uh, anything on herself, but it’s not the same. 

“Hi,” Deanna says, pausing at the bedroom door. Benny is half-upright in bed, reading. He’s wearing boxers and an undershirt, the intricate linework wrapping his bicep catching the lamplight. She’s wrapped in a towel, fresh out of the tub, desperate to come, thinks she’s gotten about as far as the angle and her flexibility will let her. 

“Hello, there,” Benny says. He puts the book down on the bedside table without looking away from her, without bothering to mark his place. 

She crawls onto the bed, settling on Benny’s lap. Her hair is still wet from the tub, and she feels open and empty as she straddles him. The towel loosens as she settles across his lap and she lets it drop, sliding to pool around her. Her skin is flushed from the hot water, but also from the fire burning inside her.

Deanna slides her hands under his shirt, works it up over his head. He comes up to let her tug it over his head, coming up to sitting so he can kiss her while she straddles him.

“Now, what have you been up to?” Benny asks, voice low. Tracking the flush on her chest, the way she wiggles against his lap. One hand winds its way into her hair, the other splays against the small of her back. 

Deanna wiggles. Feels empty. “Been practicing,” she says. Whispers, almost. Watches his eyes go dark.

“Practicing what now?” Benny asks, because apparently just the idea of her practicing anything is enough for him.

“Practicing for you,” Deanna says, rocking her hips against his hardening dick. Bears him back to the mattress so he’s staring up at her raptly. He slides his hand from her hair to her neck. She tangles her hand with the one splayed on her lower back and tugs it around to cup her sex. 

“Deanna,” he says, and his voice is a mix of wanting and wariness. “I don’t-”

“Three fingers,” she says. Asks. Definitely doesn’t beg. She lets herself come down to the mattress, to press her bare breasts to his skin. He cups her as she kisses him. “Just - three,” she says. “I can take it,” she says. Whispers into his ear, and feels his dick fill even more. “I can take it,” she says, rolling off of him to the mattress. Spreading her legs wide, rubbing her palm against herself. 

He follows her almost like he’s in a trance. Settles between her widespread legs, resting his hands on her knees. 

“Let me show you,” Deanna says, hair spread wide against the pillows, and feels his hands tighten on her knees as she slides her hands down her body. Works two fingers easily into herself, then the third, watching Benny’s face. The angle isn’t great, but she hears his breath catch. “Please,” she asks again, because he looks like he’s blue-screening. “It’s not enough,” she says, breathless, writhing, wanting more, and “Daddy, _please_.”

Benny’s rapt gaze sharpens as soon as the last two words leave her mouth and he _growls_ , comes down to crash their mouths together, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses against her jaw and lips. “Oh, baby girl,” he says, growls, gasps against her neck. Fingers coming down to find where she’s still worked inside herself. He drags a finger around where she’s stretched around her own fingers. Trails up to rub gently against her clit, feeling as she twitches and gasps. “Haven’t been looking after you properly, have I?” he asks. Kisses her again and then comes back on his knees between her thighs. 

“You can now,” she says. “I’ll tell you if I want you to stop,” she says, rocking her fingers in and out. “Please, daddy,” she says, desperate, reaching, and she sees his eyes flash.

Benny runs his hands along her trembling thighs, soothing. “Let me look after you,” he says. Pushes her thighs wide and settles between them. Breathes hot along the fine skin. Coming down so close, to look at her so intently, that Deanna feels herself flush all over again. He pulls her fingers out of her, brings her hand to his mouth to kiss it. Kiss the back, the knuckles, lave between her fingers. “Let daddy look after you,” he says, and dives. His mouth, then his fingers. 

Two slide in easily, and really, two of his are pretty close to three of hers, but she’s wet and open and ready, and even though three is a stretch she babbles at him, “yes” and “more” and “please” and “fill me up” and “keep going” he does. And when he has three fingers inside her she lets out a noise that is absolutely not a mewl. He moves his fingers, slowly, carefully, until the stretch has receded and she swears at him to get on with it, to show her. And he puts his mouth on her clit and works her slowly and surely over the edge as he fucks his fingers into her with steady determination. It’s a long, powerful orgasm that shakes her apart, the stretch and pressure of his fingers inside her enough to keep her coming as she pulses and writhes.

When she’s done, Benny looks wild and desperate and glassy, like he’s the one who just had an orgasm that wouldn’t end. He wraps his hand around his dick, and she can see it’s wet, it’s so wet from her, fist sliding easily along his skin, jacking himself slick and easy and it takes no time at all before he comes. It doesn’t seem like he’s aiming anywhere, just lust-blind and desperate. Some of it hits the blanket and some of it hits her thigh and some of it hits her stomach, and a couple of hot splashes land so close to where she wants it she wants to scream.

* * *

And it’s good - it’s always good. Benny is always determined to make her come as many times as he can handle. He picks up on stuff - that she likes it when he picks her up, when he plays with her hair. That she likes a bit of teeth. That she really likes his dick. But.

If she can take three fingers, take three of his big fingers, she should --

_Fuck me,_ Deanna says, and Benny fills her up with fingers and tongue, working her open.

\-- she should be able to -- 

_Please,_ she asks, and he swallows her breaths, works one hand into her panties, uses the other to slide her bra strap down her shoulder and then free her breast.

\-- she’s trying not to thinks that he doesn’t want her -- 

_Please_ , she says, when she can take three fingers easily, and he groans, teasing his dick through the slippery mess he’s left between her thighs, but comes up to jerk off over her stomach, her pubic mound.

\-- that he doesn’t want her that way, but --

_Please_ , she asks, wrapped around him in the pool, everything slippery, wet skin and hot sun and bikini twisted aside in all the right ways as she rocks; and he turns her over the edge of the pool and pulls her cheeks apart. _Tell me if you don’t like this,_ he says, hands flexing on her cheeks to keep her spread. He gives a couple of licks to her slit, but they’re almost perfunctory, before he flattens his tongue and licks back to her hole. She jumps a little and squeaks and he nips her cheek. _want me to stop?_ he asks, and she shakes her head, breathless, surprised, pleased noises spilling out of her as he works his mouth, and she shakes apart around the fingers inside her pussy and his tongue in her ass.

* * *

“Please,” Deanna says. Definitely not sobs. Benny’s between her thighs, and she’s already come twice, still shuddering from the last orgasm. He pulls three fingers out of her, slowly, sliding them into his mouth. 

“Please,” Deanna says again, and he kisses her hip. 

“Please what, baby girl?” he asks. He looks up her body at her, and there’s honest curiosity in his face, and that just makes her whine, like he doesn’t - 

“I’m so empty,” she says, and it’s more plaintive than she wants, more honest, but she just - she clenches around nothing, missing his fingers, missing - “In me,” she says. “I want -” She doesn’t know how to finish that, do anything but clench where she feels almost hollow.

“Oh, baby girl,” Benny says, and his eyes go dark. “You’re not--”

“I don’t _care_ ,” she says. Face definitely dry. “I want - you have to - “

He comes up to kiss her and his mouth is still wet from her. “Oh, Deanna.”

She lets out a demanding whine, fingers scratching along his back. “I’m so _empty_ ,” she says. He closes his eyes and shudders. “I want you so badly,” she says. “Inside me. Want you to open me up. Come inside me. Been so good. I’ve been so good, haven’t I?”

Benny growls and buries his face in her shoulder. “You have,” he says. Voice lower than she’s ever heard. “You’ve been so good.” Thrusts his hips against her, like he’s about to lose control. “But-”

“Then just a little,” she says. Fingernails digging at the back of his neck. “Something, anything, _please_ , daddy.”

Benny’s entire body shudders above her and he pulls back. “Okay,” he says. “Not - but something, okay.”

“Anything,” she says.

Deanna’s entire body tries to cling to him, but he guides her back down to the bed. “Stay there,” he says. Wraps her hands around the headboard and she whines but tries to stay still. He works his way back down her body, pressing her thighs wide so her lips part and he can see the core of her. “So beautiful,” he says. He presses two fingers, three, into her and she’s still so open from the last round. 

She whines, because this isn’t what she was promised. 

Benny settles between her thighs. Drags his fingers slowly out of her and uses his wet hand to fist his cock. He’s rock hard, dripping. Deanna tries to roll her hips but he holds her still. He shifts, rubbing his cock along her slit. Just. Teasing her, sliding back and forth. Holding himself steady so he can rub the head of his dick against her clit. One hand holds her thigh wide, the other wraps around the base of his dick as he rocks between her lips. The fifth pass or the hundredth, hard to tell when her world has narrowed down to the feel of his fingers on her hip and his dick between her lips and how EMPTY she is, she notices he’s slowing his passes at the core of her. The broad head of his dick catching, just a little, at her opening. He presses, just a bit, and, yeah, even when he’s not trying to get all the way in it’s - it’s still a lot. 

“Gonna -” she tries to clench, but his hand holds her open. “ _Oh,_ ” she says as he makes another pass, lingering at her opening. “Inside me,” she says. Gasps. “You’re going to come -”

“Yeah,” Benny says. Working his dick. Pressing against her, a little more. 

Her free thigh comes up to wrap around his hips before she even realizes what she’s doing, trying to pull him closer, and he growls. Lets go of his dick so that he’s pressing both of her thighs wide. He rocks his hips, and his dick slides easy between her thighs. “You going to be good?” he asks, and she nods, fingers clenching around the metal. 

“Promise,” Deanna says, and he lets go of her. Presses one finger into her pussy and pulls it out slowly. Lines up the head of his dick with her entrance and presses against her, presses into her, just a little, as he jacks himself. She parts around him and it’s good, it’s great, and his hips jerk and he slides just a little bit further into her, just enough that when he comes he comes and comes inside of her. 

He collapses, catching himself on his elbows so that part of his weight is off of her. She likes it when he presses her into the mattress. She likes that he’s considerate and doesn’t. But right now - she pushes at his shoulder, not sure where she’s trying to get him to move, but needing to get her hand free. She gets one down to her pussy, can already feel his come starting to slide out of her. She wonders how long it would take if he were _inside_ of her when he came. She runs a finger through it. Dips a finger inside of herself, pulls it out. Slides it up to her clit. It’s only then that Benny seems to regain enough brainpower to register what her arm moving means, and he grins with blown pupils before moving down to replace her hand with his own. He kisses her hip and then shifts further down so that he can watch himself finger his come in and out of her. His eyes are rapt and she has the sudden, wild desire to be able to see what he’s seeing. His touch is almost reverential as he presses his fingers into her, then scoops up wetness and uses it to rub her clit. He moves slowly and with great focus, until she kicks him in the ribs and he looks up her body to see how desperate she is.

“And I’m just leaving you hanging,” he says. “Oh, but if you could see how gorgeous you are right now.”

Deanna is entirely out of patience. “I will kick you again,” she says, and he grins and kisses her hip, rests his cheek on her thigh to watch close as she works her fingers into herself until he presses forward to replace hers with his own, sinks into her through the slick mess. He slides them in and out, watches close and rapt as she writhes on his fingers, works her clit until she comes so hard she sees stars.

* * *

So it’s not like they’re not having a ridiculous amount of sex. It’s not like Benny isn’t extremely dedicated to getting her off. But it’s been WEEKS and he won’t fuck her, and it’s starting to get to her, she’s starting to feel fucking wild with it, except for when insecurity rolls up and she starts to wonder if he doesn’t want to be inside her, if he doesn’t think she’ll be good at it. And any time she tries to work her way around the edges of it he ends up making her orgasm so hard her brain goes fuzzy and she forgets what she was going to say.

Probably she needs to find a way of getting to the point before she gets distracted, if she wants to actually, you know, get the point. 

So Deanna’s determined when she marches into the living room and plants herself between him and the tv. She’s been working herself up, checking her outfit in the mirror, making sure it’s the right kind of slutty as she gave herself what were definitely not pep talks. She crosses her arms in front of Benny. Changes her mind and grabs the remote from the couch and turns off the tv. 

“Hello, there,” Benny says, smile playing across his face as his eyes play up and down her body. Her top is loose but cut low enough to show a pop of emerald lace when she tugs the neckline just so. Which she had done before entering the room. Shorts the right length to tease. Feet bare. Hair tamed a bit back from her face. “You have my attention, darling,” he says. Sits up straight on the couch and rests his hands on her hips. Looks up at her and smiles. His thumb sneaks under the hem of her top and brushes easily against the bare skin along her waistband. She melts a little into his grip as he pulls her forward, rubbing his face against her stomach. 

_No,_ she reminds herself, and steels her spine, literally and metaphorically. Also reminds herself that _’please’_ is not technically asking someone to put their dick in you.

Benny can feel the difference in her posture and raises an eyebrow at her. “Something bothering?”

Deanna puts her hands on his big ones and drags them to cup her waist as she crawls into his lap. Benny’s thumbs play against her ribs. She settles on her knees, legs splayed around his thighs as she sits back. “I want you to fuck me,” she says, clearly and firmly. Trying not to let her voice shake. Had practiced with Charlie about this, except - not this, obviously, had gotten her friend to work her through some exercises about communicating what Deanna had thought were at least semi-realistic scenarios. (Charlie hadn’t bought the bit about Deanna wanting to borrow the car, but she had rolled her eyes and gone along with it.)

“Deanna,” he says, and deflates a bit. His hands stay, though. He doesn’t recoil, and Deanna figures that’s probably good. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to,” she says. 

“I could,” he says. “And I need you to know. And I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear. But I’ll be perfectly happy if you never managed to take me.”

“Well I _won’t_ ,” Deanna snaps. “I want - I want you inside of me. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Y’saying you just want me for my cock?” Benny asks, and the tone is teasing but there’s something in his eyes that -

“That’s not what I-” God it would have been easier to prepare for this conversation if she could have actually told Charlie what was going on, but - She scowls. “You know that’s not what I - “ she takes a breath and closes her eyes and “You won’t even try,” she says. She feels hot and embarrassed. “Don’t you want -” and then her face is too hot for words so she tucks it into his neck. 

“Deanna,” he says, and his voice is low. Spreads one hand low on her back. Brings the other up to cup her face. “I want,” he says. “Christ, you have no idea how much I want.”

“You won’t even try,” she says. “You’re big, but you’re not - you’re not like the size of my wrist or anything,” she says. “Of your own wrist.” Righteousness building. 

“The hell kind of dicks have you been looking at?” he asks. “And more importantly, where have you been seeing them?” There’s a note in his voice like he’s trying hard to remain impassive, but there’s the potential for jealousy to arise. 

“Internet,” she says, rolling her eyes, just a little, and they definitely aren’t wet. “I’ve been doing research.”

“You’ve been-” Benny laughs, and there’s such soft affection on his face. “Of course you have been.”

She scowls when he laughs, but he leans forward to kiss her forehead. “I hate research.”

“Of course you do,” Benny says. Wraps those strong arms around her. His eyes go dark. “We could do some ~research~ together sometime.”

“Yeah,” she says, and her mouth goes a little dry at the thought, but then - “hey,” she says. “Stop trying to distract me. Fuck me instead.”

Benny takes his hands off her and raises them placatingly, which - definitely not what she was aiming for. 

“I’m not a _baby_ ,” Deanna hisses. “And I get not wanting to jump to it, or wanting to hurt me, but it feels like you don’t even want to TRY.”

“I know you’re not a baby,” Benny says. Smooths his hands down her sides. “But you are young, and-”

“Wait,” Deanna says. His hands freeze. “Wait a second.” She braces on his shoulders and pushes him back into the couch. “Wait one damn second. Are you - are you seriously thinking that if you don’t cross this line that -”

“No!” Benny protests. “No, that would be -” He freezes. His face does a thing that makes Deanna want to just - laugh or kiss him or hit him. “I’m not thinking about that,” he says, but the words are slow, very slow. And then he stops, closes his eyes. “Oh god, I was thinking that.” He opens his eyes again. Pulls his hands from her waist to cover his face. 

Deanna laughs. “Last night you fingerbanged me with your own come so hard I passed out.”

“I know,” Benny says, pressing his hands closer to his face. “I remember that very well.”

“Virginity is a social construct, and using penetrative sex as the be-all, end-all of relationships is heteronormative at best,” Deanna parrots.

Benny groans behind his hands. “Charlie?” he asks.

“I mean, yeah,” Deanna says. “But she’s not wrong.”

“Christ,” Benny says. Lets his hands drop the couch and his head over the back. “And it ain’t even like I’m straight.” And he freezes, but just a bit.

“Mhmm,” Deanna says, finding his hands to twine their fingers. “I appreciate a nice rack myself, but there’s just something about a good dick,” she says. 

Benny lets out a long, loud exhale. “Yeah,” he says. “Both are good.” He squeezes their intertwined fingers. “Deanna…”

“Speaking of a good dick,” Deanna says. Rocks her hips a little where she straddles him. Leans in to kiss his throat. “I like yours,” she murmurs against his jaw. 

Benny brings his hands up to bracket her waist, and his hands are so big, perfect. She leans in to kiss him, bringing their lips together. He kisses her, and she slides her hands into the open collar of his shirt, tugging him forward, deeper, breath starting to come in deep, broken gasps and open mouth kisses, his hands sliding down to cup her ass as she rocks. She goes for the hem of his shirt and their hands tangle as he goes for hers, but they both make it off eventually, and he brings his hands up to cup her breasts. She preens a little at how intently he’s looking at them, preen turning into a full-body shudder as he flicks his thumbs across the tight buds of her nipples through the lace. 

“Yeah,” she says, and tugs on his chest hair to bring him in to bury his face between her breasts. He tips her to the couch below him as he nuzzles one, then the other, wet mouth closing over her nipple through the fabric. One arm settles behind her neck and the other hand creeps up the bottom of her shorts, splaying flat against her hip as she scrabbles at his broad back.

“Off,” she says, struggling up just enough to try to twist behind herself to release the clasp of her bra, and Benny huffs out a laugh as she hurls it - somewhere.

“You on a mission to lose all your delicates?” he drawls, but his eyes on her are hungry.

“You seriously complaining?” Deanna asks. Brings her hands up to her own breasts and to her nipples.

“Nah,” Benny says, voice low and smokey. His hands come to the button on her shorts, and he carefully, slowly pops it and slides the zipper down to reveal her panties. They’re pink and satiny and new and girlier than she normally likes, but they feel - Deanna squirms a little, waiting for him to comment. Benny lets out a low noise of satisfaction. “No problem at all,” he says, and pulls her shorts off and over her bare feet. His hand comes to rest against her hip, and she can feel the heat of it through the silky fabric. “These are almost as pretty as you,” he says, shifting his hand to cup her through the fabric. 

She tries to roll her eyes. Definitely doesn’t whimper, may or may not already be wet, definitely doesn’t mewl as he comes down on his elbows and breathes through the fabric on her. As he shifts them just enough to start teasing her, running a finger between her lips, dipping in and out of her as he kisses her stomach. Then the finger is more inside her than out, then it has a friend, and it’s - it’s great, it’s fantastic to have something in her, but - “You were gonna fuck me,” she says. “For real. Gonna try”

Benny kisses her hip. “I was serious about not wanting to hurt you,” he says. Scissors his fingers. Kisses lower on her stomach. “Gonna make sure you’re good and loose,” he says, pulling her panties farther aside and using his thumb to part her lips. “Orgasm or two should help,” he says, and leans in to lick around his fingers, lick up her vulva. “Any objections?” he asks, serious, curling his fingers inside her.

“No,” she gasps. Feels rather than sees him smile against her, and her fingers curl desperately in his short hair as he presses his mouth in closer. 

“Mmmmmm,” she says, later, lazy, petting at the back of his head, as he readjusts her panties and pats her hip.

“Bedroom?” he asks, and she nods. He scoops her up and she makes a pleased little noise as she wraps her legs around his waist and he carries her up the stairs. She’s naked except for the panties. He’s still wearing everything but his shirt. She still feels hot and golden, makes happy little noises as she rocks herself against his stomach. He huffs out a laugh and takes the stairs faster, tries to dump her on the bed but she refuses to let go. He sits on the edge of the bed instead, her arms and legs twined around him.

“No,” she says, stretching her back. “You stay right here.”

Benny laughs, hand running back and forth between the curve of her ass and the thigh wrapped around him. “Now,” he says. “For someone who says penetrative sex isn’t the be-all, end-all, you seem pretty darn keen.”

Deanna rolls her eyes. “Because I _want_ it,” she says. Tightening her legs so she can feel him hard through his pants. “Your dick is great and I’m horny and empty, and I want it _in_ me,” she says, and he just - growls and flips them over and pins her to the mattress. He rubs against her, spends ages getting her off with his fingers and tongue. 

“So glad this is all wholesome and you haven’t defiled me already,” Deanna gasps when she’s come again on his fingers and tongue, when he’s curled up against her, dick hard against her thigh. Clenching around the big three fingers still inside her and looking down past the beard burn on her chest, her thighs. 

“Good, clean fun,” he says. His mouth is red. “You ready?” he asks, when her heart rate has slowed. 

She nods. Swallows. “Yeah,” she says, and when he slides his fingers out of her she tries not to whine. He rolls onto his back, hands coming to her hips as she settles into place above him. Now that this is happening, she isn’t sure what to do, what to feel. 

“Let you control the pace this way,” he says. Brings one hand up to brush her hair back from her face. “Hey,” he says. “You sure?”

She rolls her eyes at him, but feels her heartbeat settle back down. It’s just Benny. He brings his hands back to her hips to help support her weight as she finds his cock and lines it up. “Yeah,” she says. Takes a moment to tease him there. She’s had a million different fantasies about this moment, but now that it’s here, the weight of it is both bigger and smaller than she anticipated, and her heart is hammering.

“It’s probably going to hurt a bit,” he says. “But it shouldn’t - if you want to stop -”

She nods. Wants to say something snarky, but - “Yeah,” she says, and comes down to kiss him. “I -” she stops herself from letting four-letter words spill out. “I want this,” she says and kisses him. “I’ve wanted this for -” a long time, she thinks, and buries it along with four-letter words. 

He kisses her, and there’s something almost desperate in it, long and deep, and her heart is racing when she pulls back. “Yeah,” he says, gently tracing her cheekbone. “Same. You’ll tell me if you need to stop?”

“Okay,” she says, and “yeah,” gives his cheek a quick kiss before pushing herself back upright and finding his dick again. She lines him up, and he clenches his hands in the sheets as she starts to work her way down. It takes time, his hands coming up to her hips to take some of the weight when she has to pause. His thighs and stomach flex beneath her with the effort it’s taking him not to thrust. She’s full. Fuck, she’s so full, and he’s not - he’s not near all the way inside of her yet. She breathes through her nose. It feels like - it feels like she was expecting, but also _more_. Her thighs quiver, just a bit, as she lets herself sink down. His dick is - there’s still more of it, he hasn’t bottomed out yet, and she starts to think maybe she doesn’t actually know how big it is. Which is ludicrous because she loves spending time up close and personal with it. 

“Almost there,” Benny says, thumbs smoothing the creases of her hips. “Almost.”

So she takes a deep breath and lets herself sink down just a little further, and her thighs hit his hips, and that’s it, that’s all of it, she’s taken it all. “Oh,” she says, and sits there for a moment, adjusting, waiting, fighting the absurd impulse to high five Benny. “Oh,” she says again, after she’s adjusted, as the pain fades, but it’s a completely different _oh_ , as she rocks a little, experimentally, rolling her hips and pulsing her core muscles. She rocks up a little so she can bring her hand down to feel where she’s stretched wide around him. He groans. She’s full. She’s - it’s overwhelming. 

“You okay?” Benny asks. Eyes focused on her face, watching her reactions carefully, hands soft on her hips, despite how lust-blown his pupils are. 

“Yeah,” Deanna says. “Just - give me a couple of seconds.” There’s a half second where she’s worried he’s going to call it off, but he takes her at her word, nods and soothes his thumbs against her hips in soft arcs. She breathes into it. She puts a hand to her stomach, because it feels almost like she should be able to feel it from the outside, though of course she can’t. “ _Oh,_ ” she says again, a happy, satisfied thing, because yeah, despite the initial discomfort this is good, this is great, and she plants her hands on Benny’s broad chest and tries a small, controlled rise and fall. His body goes rigid with the effort of keeping still. “Yeah,” Deanna says, bottoming out after the next roll. “You can -” settles “you can move,” she says.

Benny gives a little thrust, and Deanna hums. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that’s-”

Benny’s pupils are blown. He starts with small, even thrusts, and she rocks with it, and before long they have a rhythm, dim room filling with gasps. It doesn’t take her too long to lose it though, and she lets out a little groan of frustration, legs shaking as she fights gravity, her downward thrusts coming faster. 

“Hey,” he says, grabbing her thighs to hold her in place. “Take a breather?” he offers, and she wants to vibrate with frustration, but she just sits there with him all the way inside her and clenches. 

“Wish you were kissing me,” she says, because despite his dick all the way up in her he feels like a million miles away. He surges upright at the words, core working as he comes up, hands resting at the small of her back, and he presses their mouths together, hungry, as she clings to his lap, his shoulders. They make the tiniest, smallest, rocking thrusts that send sparks through her. Skin to skin, open-mouthed kissing, her nails digging into his broad, muscled shoulders. Her thighs start to shake again, just a little, but he feels the tremors. 

“Come on,” he says. Kisses her nose. Helps her off of him and rolls them onto their sides, faces pressed together, and he slides back into her slowly, watching her face. 

And yeah, this is good, this is great, this is better. He can’t get as deep but she’s less overwhelmingly full. But it’s the closeness, being able to touch him as much as she wants, to kiss, press foreheads, twine fingers. She loops her top leg over his waist to encourage him and time goes funny, goes elastic, as they rock together with slow, steady thrusts, everything going hot and heady, catching his lip between her teeth and him kissing her deep and on and on and on, until his constant stream of French gets more broken, his thrusts sharper, and she uses her leg to encourage him faster, harder, until he freezes and shakes and comes inside of her. 

“Mmmmm,” she says, waiting for the shaking to stop, because he’s still hard inside of her and it feels good, even if it’s a bit more weird and slippery now. He slides a hand between their bodies and to her clit, and it takes almost no time at all before she’s coming. He kisses her, soft, brushing hair back from her sweaty face, checking. He makes as if to move or pull out, but she makes a little whining sound, far beyond speech, arms and leg wrapping tighter around him and burrowing her face into the hollow of his neck.

“Okay,” he says, hands running soothingly down her back, kissing the crown of her head. She’s not sure how long they stay there, but eventually she wiggles enough that he slips out of her, and it’s - a weird feeling. She’s empty again, and it’s somehow both more and less than before. 

“Let me get you cleaned up?” Benny asks, and Deanna shakes her head. 

“Don’t wanna stop touching you,” she says.

“Okay,” Benny says. Strokes his hand up and down her arm. “But you’re going to regret it,” he murmurs into her hair. “And I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” she murmurs. “Better than.” Bites his earlobe. Lets her hand play across his chest. They are - definitely sticky. 

Benny sighs. Kisses her hair again. “What if I carried you to the bathroom with me?” he asks.

Deanna takes a moment to think about it. Plucks at his chest hair. “I’ll allow it,” she says, finally, and he laughs warm and bright against the side of her head.

“Magnanimous,” he says, and she flicks his ear. He laughs, but scoops her up and carries her to the ensuite and it’s stupid huge soaker tub, and she basically makes a clingy and deliberate nuisance of herself as he runs it full. 

Honestly, it’s probably a good idea, and she can already tell she’s going to be sore tomorrow. 

“Wouldn’t want you limping at volleyball,” Benny says, and she only fights the urge to stick her tongue out at him by tugging at his chest hair.

She snorts. “Like you wouldn’t get the tiniest of thrills out of that.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he says, face impassive.

“Uh-huh,” she says, and she knows it's a strength of will on his part that stops him from dropping her into the bath. That, and him not wanting to clean up splashes of water everywhere. The water is warm, and it’s - yeah, it’s nice. It’s almost perfect.

“You’re okay?” he asks, serious this time, and she nods.

“Bit sore,” she says. “Scout’s honor.” 

He huffs. Even now, sticky and tired and hair all askew, cock soft, he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “Y’even going to pretend I don’t know you got kicked out of scouts after three weeks?” There are a couple of scratches visible on his shoulders, and she feels a certain kind of stubborn pride well up in her. 

“I promise,” she says again, but serious. “Only one thing wrong.”

“What’s that?” he asks, suddenly on alert. 

“You, asshole,” she says. Catching his hand. “You’re out there. There’s plenty of space in here.”

He relaxes. Grins, mouth twisting wryly. His lips are still kiss-swollen. “Wasn’t sure if you’d want some time alone.” He squeezes her hand.

“Not now,” she says. Her throat feels tight. “Want you here.”

He nods. “Whatever you want, Deanna.”

She swallows. “Good,” she says. “Because I need someone to wash my hair.”

He laughs, a sudden bright noise. “Scootch, then,” he says, and slides in awkwardly behind her. “Shampoo?” he asks, and she pulls his arms around her and sinks down in the water. 

“Later,” she says and lets herself drift in the water and the warm steadiness of him wrapped around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This stands as is, but look - everything is so much right now. There might be more yet. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This is tagged as complete because it stands alone but there is, uhhhhh, a very good chance there could be more to come.


End file.
